iiiiiWW^ 

i 


•.'•••• 


JULIETTE   DROUET   AT    TWENTY-SIX 


The  Love    Letters  of 

Juliette  Drouet  to 

Victor  Hugo 


EDITED  BY 

LOUIS  GIMBAUD 


TRANSLATED  BY 

LADY  THEODORA  DAVIDSON 


Copyright,  19141  by 
McBRiDE,  NAST  &  Co. 


Published  September,  1914 


FOREWORD 

A  POET,  a  great  poet,  loves  a  princess  of 
the  theater.  He  is  jealous.  He  forces  her  to 
abandon  the  stage  and  the  green-room,  to  relin- 
quish the  hollow  flattery  of  society  and  the  town ; 
he  cloisters  her  with  one  servant,  two  or  three  of 
his  portraits,  and  as  many  books,  in  an  apartment 
a  few  yards  square.  When  she  complains  of 
having  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  him,  he  replies : 

"Write  to  me.  Write  me  everything  that 
comes  into  your  head,  everything  that  causes  your 
heart  to  beat." 

Such  is  the  origin  of  the  letters  of  Juliette 
Drouet  to  Victor  Hugo.  They  are  not  ordinary 
missives  confided  to  the  post  and  intended  to  as- 
sure a  lover  of  the  tender  feelings  of  his  mistress : 
they  are  notes,  mere  "scribbles"  as  Juliette  her- 
self calls  them,  thrown  upon  paper  hour  by  hour, 
cast  into  a  corner  without  being  read  over,  and 
secured  by  the  lover  at  each  of  his  visits,  as  so 
many  trophies  of  passion. 

When  Juliette  Drouet's  executor,  M.  Louis 
Kock,  died  in  Paris  on  the  26th  of  May,  1912,  he 


Foreword 

hadin  his  possession  about  twenty  thousand.  He 
had  added  to  them  the  letters  of  James  Pradier 
to  our  heroine,  those  of  Juliette  to  her  daughter 
Claire  Pradier,  and  the  answers  of  Claire  Pradier 
to  her  mother. 

This  collection  of  documents  passed  into  the 
hands  of  a  Parisian  publisher,  Monsieur  A. 
Blaizot,  who  has  been  so  good  as  to  allow  us  to 
examine  them  and  compile  from  them  a  volume 
concerning  Victor  Hugo  and  his  friend. 

At  first  sight  the  task  presented  grave  difficul- 
ties— nay,  it  seemed  almost  impossible  of  execu- 
tion. To  begin  with,  it  would  have  been  futile 
to  think  of  publishing  the  whole  of  the  twenty 
thousand  letters;  in  the  second  place  it  might 
appear  a  work  of  supererogation  to  reconstruct 
from  them  in  detail  the  story  of  a  liaison  well 
known  to  have  been  uneventful,  almost  monoto- 
nous, and  more  suggestive  of  a  litany  or  the  beads 
of  a  rosary  than  of  tragedy  or  a  novel. 

We  have  attempted  to  surmount  these  objec- 
tions in  the  following  manner : 

In  the  first  portion  we  present  the  biography  of 
Juliette  Drouet  in  the  form  of  a  series  of  synthetic 
tableaux,  each  tableau  summarizing  several  lus- 
ters of  her  life.  We  thus  avoid  the  long-drawn- 


Foreword 

out  narrative,  year  by  year,  of  an  existence  devoid 
of  incident  or  adventure. 

In  the  second,  we  publish  those  letters  which 
strike  us  as  peculiarly  eloquent,  witty,  or  lyrical. 
In  the  light  shed  upon  them  by  the  preliminary 
biography,  they  form,  as  one  might  say,  its  justi- 
fication and  natural  sequel. 

At  the  outset  of  her  liaison  with  the  poet, 
Juliette  does  not  date  her  "scribbles" ;  she  merely 
notes  the  time  of  day  and  the  day  of  the  week  un- 
til about  1840;  we  have  therefore  been  obliged 
to  content  ourselves  with  the  classification  effected 
by  her  in  the  collection  of  her  manuscripts,  and 
preserved  by  her  executor. 

From  1840  she  dated  every  sheet.  Conse- 
quently our  work  simultaneously  achieves  more 
precision  and  certainty. 

When  its  difficulties  have  seemed  insuperable 
we  have  derived  valuable,  precious  encouragement 
from  the  sympathy  of  the  literary  students  and 
friends  who  had  urged  us  to  undertake  it,  or  were 
assisting  us  in  its  execution.  We  have  pleasure 
in  recording  our  thanks  to  the  following:  MM. 
Louis  Barthou,  Beuve,  A.  Blaizot,  Franqois 
Camailac,  Eugene  Planes,  F.  C.  Escolier,  etc. 

We  have  often  wondered  what  the  charming 


Foreword 

woman  whose  ideals,  tastes,  and  habits  have  by 
degrees  become  almost  as  familiar  to  us  as  her 
handwriting,  would  have  thought  of  our  efforts. 
As  far  as  she  herself  is  concerned,  there  can  be 
but  little  doubt.  She  would  have  made  fun  of  the 
undertaking.  By  dint  of  moving  in  the  society  of 
men  of  high  literary  attainments  she  had  acquired 
a  very  modest  estimate  of  her  own  wit  and  talent. 
In  1877  when  the  architect  Roblin  one  day  dis- 
covered her  sorting  out  her  "scribbles/'  he 
thought  she  was  attempting  to  write  a  book  and 
gravely  asked  her  "when  it  was  to  be  published." 
"What  an  idea !"  she  cried,  and  burst  out  laugh- 
ing. 

Such  was  not  the  opinion  of  Victor  Hugo  how- 
ever. That  perfect  artist  attached  the  utmost  im- 
portance to  the  writings  of  his  friend.  Each 
time  she  wished  to  destroy  them  he  commanded 
her  to  preserve  them.  Whenever  she  proposed 
to  bring  them  to  a  close,  he  insisted  upon  her  con- 
tinuing. We  possess  an  unpublished  letter  from 
the  poet  in  which  he  exclaims : 

"Your  letters,  my  Juliette,  constitute  my  treas- 
ure, my  casket  of  jewels,  my  riches!  In  them 
our  joint  lives  are  recorded  day  by  day,  thought 
by  thought.  All  that  you  dreamed  lies  there,  all 
that  you  suffered.  They  are  charming  mirrors, 


each  one  of  which  reflects  a  fresh  aspect  of  your 
lovely  soul." 

Surely  such  a  phrase  conveys  approbation  and 
sanction  sufficient  for  both  Juliette  Drouet  and 
her  humble  biographer. 


CONTENTS 
PART  I 

BIOGRAPHICAL 

I    JULIENNE  GAUVAIN i 

II    PRINCESS    NEGRONI 19 

III  "LA   TRISTESSE   D'OLYMPIO" 44 

IV  THE  SHACKLES  OF  LOVE 60 

V    CLAIRE   PRADIER 93 

VI    ON  AN  ISLAND 113 

VII    "THAT  WHICH  BRINGS  SATISFACTION  TO  THE  HEART"  .  140 

PART  II 

A  SELECTION  FROM  TWENTY  THOUSAND  LETTERS 
1833-1883       157-404 

APPENDIX 405 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Juliette  Drouet  at  Twenty-six     ....        Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


Victor  Hugo   Miniature,   done   for  Juliette     ...  2 

Juliette  Drouet  about  1820 14 

Juliette  Drouet  as  the  Princess  Negroni     ....  24 

Victor  Hugo,  by  Rodin 36 

Juliette  Drouet  in  1846 36 

Her  House  in  Metz 48 

Church  of  Bievre 56 

Victor   Hugo   about   1836 74 

Claire   Pradier 94 

Juliette   Drouet  when   in   Jersey 116 

Victor  Hugo  when  in  Jersey 124 

Family  Group  at   Hauteville   House 132 

Juliette  Drouet  in  1883 150 

One  of  Juliette's  Letters  to  Her  Daughter     .      .      .  2O2 

Drawing  by  Victor  Hugo 280 

Juliette  Drouet  about  1877 390 


PART  I 
BIOGRAPHICAL 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


CHAPTER  I 

JULIENNE   GAUVAIN 

AN  irregular  outline,  somber  coloring,  a  tangle 
of  towers,  steeples,  high  gables  and  ramparts, 
steep  passages  built  in  the  form  of  steps :  such  was 
the  town  of  Fougeres  at  the  beginning  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  The  principal  features  of  its  sur- 
roundings were  a  turbulent  river  waging  unceas- 
ing conflict  with  numerous  mills,  uncultivated 
wastes,  more  footpaths  than  lanes,  and  more  lanes 
than  high-roads. 

This  former  hot-bed  of  "Chouans"  was  an  ap- 
propriate birthplace  for  a  heroine  of  romance — 
and  there,  on  the  loth  of  April,  1806,  was  born 
Julienne  Josephine  Gauvain,  subsequently  known 
as  Mademoiselle  Juliette,  and  later  still,  as 
Madame  Drouet.1 

1  Her  birth  certificate  is  drawn  up  in  the  following  terms : 
"On  April  nth,  1806,  at  3  p.m.,  before  me,  Louis  Pinel,  mayor 

I 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Her  father  was  a  humble  tailor  living  in  a  sub- 
urb of  the  town,  on  the  road  between  Fougeres 
and  Autrain;  her  mother  kept  the  little  home. 
Madame  Drouet  was  somewhat  proud  of  her  hum- 
ble origin;  she  wrote:  "I  am  of  the  people,"  as 
others  might  boast  "I  am  well  born."  She  wished 
thereby  to  explain  and  excuse  her  taste  for  inde- 
pendence, her  fiery  temper,  and  her  impulsive  na- 
ture. She  might  equally  have  attributed  these  to 
the  neglect  she  suffered  in  early  infancy. 

For  she  had  no  parents  to  guard  or  train  her. 
Her  mother  died  on  the  I5th  of  December,  1806, 
before  the  infant  could  lisp  her  first  words.  On 
the  1 2th  of  September  in  the  following  year  the 
father  dragged  himself  to  the  public  infirmary 
at  Fougeres  and  there  breathed  his  last.  The 
infirmary  took  over  the  charge  of  the  orphan  and 
was  about  to  place  her  with  the  foundlings — in- 

of  Fougeres  and  registrar  of  births,  deaths  and  marriages,  Julien 
Gauvain,  tailor,  aged  twenty-nine,  residing  at  Rue  de  la  Revo- 
lution, Fougeres,  presented  a  female  child,  born  on  the  pre- 
ceding day  at  7  a.  m.,  the  legitimate  daughter  of  himself  and 
his  wife  Marie  Caretandet;  he  declared  his  intention  of  bestow- 
ing upon  her  the  names  of  Julienne-Josephine.  The  said  decla- 
ration and  presentation  were  made  in  the  presence  of  Francois 
Dorange,  sheriff's  officer  aged  twenty-five  residing  in  Fougeres, 
and  Frangois  Paunier,  gardener,  aged  sixty-eight,  residing  in 
Lecousse.  This  certificate  was  duly  signed  by  the  father  and 
the  witnesses,  after  the  same  had  been  read  aloud  to  them. 
Signed:  Julien  Gauvain,  Francois  Paunier,  Dorange  and  Louis 
Pinel." 


VICTOR   HUGO 

From  a  miniature  by  Auguste  de  Chatillon,  done  for  Juliette 
Drouet. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

deed,  the  necessary  formalities  had  already  been 
complied  with — when  a  protector  suddenly  came 
forward,  a  certain  worthy  uncle. 

His  name  was  Rene  Henri  Drouet.  He  was 
thirty-two  years  old,  a  sub-lieutenant  of  artillery, 
had  seen  active  service  in  eight  campaigns  under 
Napoleon,  and  been  wounded  in  the  foot  by  the 
blow  of  an  ax.  The  wound  was  such  that  some 
very  quiet  employment  had  to  be  provided  for 
him.  The  ex-artilleryman  was  turned  into  a 
coast-guard  and  dawdled  out  a  bored  existence 
in  the  little  Breton  port  where  fate  confined  him 
henceforth.  He  claimed  Julienne,  and  she  was 
handed  over  to  his  care. 

It  would  be  foolish  to  pretend  that  this  retired 
warrior  was  a  suitable  person  to  undertake  the 
training  of  a  little  girl.  He  understood  only  how 
to  spoil  and  caress  her.  Never  did  child  enjoy 
a  wilder,  more  vagabond  childhood.  Julienne 
never  got  to  the  village  school,  because  on  the 
way  thither  glimmered  a  large  pond  bordered  by 
clumps  of  bushes.  Among  this  shrubbery  she 
would  conceal  her  shoes  and  stockings,  and  wad- 
ing into  the  water,  blue  as  the  Breton  skies,  gather 
starry  water-lilies.  When  she  came  out,  more 
often  than  not  she  failed  to  find  the  hiding-place 
and  ran  home  barefooted,  hair  floating  in  the 

3 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

wind,  and  a  frock  torn  to  ribbons.  But  she  only 
laughed,  and  was  forgiven  because  she  made  such 
a  winsome  picture  in  her  tatters  and  her  wreath 
of  flowers.  Those  were  halcyon  days,  days  filled 
with  innocent  joys  and  elementary  sorrows :  now 
a  fruit  tree  robbed  of  its  burden  under  the  indul- 
gent eye  of  the  old  coastguard  in  his  green  uni- 
form, now  the  death  of  a  tame  linnet.  All  her 
life  Julienne's  memory  would  dwell  pleasurably 
on  those  early  delights.  Nothing  could  curb  her 
natural  wildness,  not  even  the  gate  of  a  cloister 
or  the  rule  of  St.  Benedict. 

Among  Rene  Henri  Drouet's  female  relations 
he  counted  a  sister  and  a  cousin,  nuns  in  a  great 
Parisian  convent,  the  Bernardines-Benedictines 
of  Perpetual  Adoration.  Their  house  was  situ- 
ated in  the  Rue  du  Petit-Picpus.  When  Juli- 
enne was  ten  years  old  he  easily  managed  to 
have  her  admitted  to  the  school  attached  to  the 
convent,  and  thenceforth  the  orphan's  path  in  life 
seemed  settled:  she  should  first  become  a  distin- 
guished pupil,  then  a  pious  novice,  and  lastly  a 
holy  nun.  But  as  events  turned  out  Julienne  was 
only  to  carry  out  the  first  part  of  the  programme. 

From  the  description  left  us  by  Madame  Drouet 
and  transcribed  in  full  by  Victor  Hugo  in  Les  Mis- 
crables,  the  house  in  the  Petit-Picpus  was  none  too 

4 


To  Victor  Hugo 

cheerful;  its  first  welcome  to  the  child  was  more 
somber  than  any  drama  she  was  to  figure  in  later 
as  an  actress.  Padlocked  gates,  dark  corridors, 
bare  rooms,  a  chapel  where  the  priest  himself  was 
concealed  behind  a  veil,  such  was  the  scene ;  black 
phantoms  with  shrouded  features  played  the 
parts.  The  action  was  composed  of  interminable 
prayers  and  stringent  mortifications.  The  Ber- 
nardines-Benedictines  slept  on  straw  and  wore 
hair-shirts  which  produced  chronic  irritation  and 
jerky  spasms;  they  knew  not  the  taste  of  meat  or 
the  warmth  of  a  fire.  They  took  turns  in  making 
reparation,  and  no  excuse  for  shirking  was  per- 
mitted. Reparation  consisted  in  prayers  for  all 
the  sins  and  faults  of  omission  and  commission, 
all  the  crimes  of  the  world.  For  twelve  consecu- 
tive hours  the  petitioner  had  to  kneel  upon  the 
stone  steps  in  front  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
with  clasped  hands  and  a  rope  round  her  neck. 
When  the  fatigue  became  unbearable  she  pros- 
trated herself  on  her  face  with  her  arms  out- 
stretched in  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  prayed  more 
ardently  than  before  for  the  sinners  of  the  uni- 
verse. Victor  Hugo,  who  gathered  these  details 
from  the  lips  of  Madame  Drouet,  declared  them 
sublime,  while  she  who  had  personally  witnessed 
their  painful  passion,  retained  a  profound  impres- 

5 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

sion  for  life,  coupled  with  a  strong  sense  of 
Catholicism  and  the  gift  of  prayer. 

Outside  of  these  austerities  the  pupils  of  the 
school  conformed  to  nearly  all  the  practices  of 
the  convent.  Like  the  nuns,  they  only  saw  their 
parents  in  the  parlor,  and  were  not  allowed  to 
embrace  them.  In  the  refectory  they  ate  in 
silence  under  the  eye  of  the  nun  on  duty,  who 
from  time  to  time,  if  so  much  as  a  fly  flew  with- 
out permission,  would  snap  a  wooden  book  nois- 
ily. This  sound  and  the  reading  of  the  Lives  of 
the  Saints  were  the  sole  seasoning  of  the  meal. 
If  a  rebellious  pupil  dared  to  dislike  the  food  and 
leave  it  on  her  plate  she  was  condemned  to  kneel 
and  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  the  stone  floor 
with  her  tongue. 

Neither  the  licked  cross  nor  the  meager  fare 
ever  succeeded  in  damping  Julienne's  spirits. 
She  preserved  the  beautiful  spontaneity  and  love 
of  fun  of  her  early  years.  She  was  the  spoilt 
child  of  the  convent  where  her  aunts,  Mother  des 
Anges  and  Mother  Ste.  Mechtilde,  appear  to  have 
wielded  a  kindly  authority.  She  soon  became  its 
enfant  terrible.  Once,  when  she  was  about 
twelve  years  old,  she  threw  herself  into  the  arms 
of  a  nun  and  longingly  scanning  the  outer  walls, 
cried :  "Mother,  Mother,  one  of  the  big  girls  has 

6 


To  Victor  Hugo 

just  told  me  I  have  only  got  nine  years  and  ten 
months  more  to  stay  here :  what  luck !"  And  an- 
other time  she  dropped  on  the  pavement  of  the 
cloister  a  confession  written  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
so  that  she  might  not  forget  its  items :  "Father, 
I  accuse  myself  of  being  an  adulteress.  Father,  I 
accuse  myself  of  having  stared  at  gentlemen." 

One  might  well  ask  who  were  the  gentlemen 
concerned,  for  in  the  convent  of  Petit-Picpus 
there  were  no  male  professors ;  only  the  most  dis- 
tinguished among  the  nuns  assumed  the  duty  of 
instructing  the  young  boarders. 

Judging  from  the  eloquence  which  will  be 
found  later  in  Madame  Drouet's  letters,  the  Ber- 
nardines-Benedictines  must  have  accomplished 
their  task  with  great  thoroughness.  Julienne 
learned  from  them,  if  not  orthography  and  culti- 
vated style,  at  least  sincerity  and  the  point  that 
before  attempting  to  write  one  should  have  some- 
thing to  say.  She  also  studied  accomplishments. 
Mother  Ste.  Mechtilde  possessed  a  beautiful  voice. 
She  was  consequently  appointed  mistress  of  cere- 
monies and  of  the  choir,  and  used  to  train  her 
niece  and  other  pupils.  Her  habit  was  to  take 
seven  children  and  make  them  sing  standing  in  a 
row  according  to  their  ages,  so  that  they  looked 
like  a  set  of  girlish  organ-pipes.  History  does 

7 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

not  relate  whether  Julienne  sang  better  than  the 
others,  but  a  little  later  she  began  to  nurse  in 
secret  the  idea  of  utilizing  her  gifts  as  a  virtuoso. 
At  Petit-Picpus  she  also  learned  to  sketch  and 
paint  in  water-colors.  She  owed  this  instruction 
to  the  favor  of  the  pious  nuns  who,  as  a  special 
breach  of  their  rule,  authorized  her  to  take  lessons 
from  a  young  master,  Redoute. 

It  may  not  be  too  bold  to  declare  that  Julienne 
imbibed  at  the  convent  those  qualities  of  tact  and 
restraint  and  that  air  of  distinction  she  exhibited 
later  in  the  drawing-room  of  Victor  Hugo. 

To  the  Convent  of  the  Bernardines  was  at- 
tached a  sort  of  house  of  retreat  where  aged 
ladies  of  rank  could  end  their  days,  as  also  nuns 
of  the  various  orders  whose  cloisters  had  been 
destroyed  during  the  Revolution.  Some  of  these 
preserved  within  their  hearts  a  generous  instinct 
of  maternity  which  Julienne  easily  managed  to 
waken.  She  fell  into  the  habit  of  running  over  to 
break  the  rule  of  everlasting  silence  in  that  fairly 
cheerful  environment,  and  in  defiance  of  the  pro- 
hibition against  intimacy,  she  turned  the  old  la- 
dies into  personal  friends.  She  listened  atten- 
tively and  remembered  much,  and  forty  years 
later  she  could  describe  correctly  the  names, 
appearance  and  habits  of  that  picturesque  group, 

8 


To  Victor  Hugo 

somewhat  archaic,  but  invariably  courteous  and 
witty. 

Perhaps  because  of  this  slight  lifting  of  the 
veil  Julienne  began  already  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
to  fix  her  eager  gaze  beyond  the  cloister  and  the 
gate.  Perhaps  also  some  instinct  of  dignity  and 
self-respect  urged  her  to  learn  something  of  the 
world  before  entering  the  novitiate  to  pronounce 
her  vows.  However  this  may  be,  it  seems  certain 
that  on  the  solemn  occasion  of  her  presentation 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  Monsignor  Quelen,  as 
a  postulant,  she  managed  to  convey  that  her  voca- 
tion was  of  the  frailest  and  her  desire  for  the 
world,  deeply  rooted.  The  prelate  understood 
and  signified  to  the  nuns  that  this  particular  lamb 
desired  to  wander.  That  very  evening  Julienne 
left  the  convent. 

Here  follows  a  somewhat  obscure  interlude  in 
the  girl's  life.  We  meet  her  next  among  the 
pupils  of  the  sculptor  Pradier,  in  1825. 

James  Pradier :  to  those  of  our  generation  this 
name  recalls  merely  a  number  of  groups  and 
statues — statues  more  graceful  than  chaste, 
groups  more  elegant  than  virile;  the  work  of  a 
master  who  aimed  at  rivaling  Praxiteles,  but 
only  succeeded  in  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  Clo- 
dion. 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Pradier,  however,  only  needs  a  careful  biogra- 
pher to  acquire  another  kind  of  celebrity :  that  of 
an  artist,  grand  viveur,  magnificent  and  vain, 
careless  and  weak,  born  too  late  to  lead  without 
scandal  the  frivolous  life  he  loved,  too  early  to 
acquire  by  industry  the  fortune  needed  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  his  tastes. 

Twice  a  week  his  studio  was  transformed  into 
a  drawing-room  and  his  receptions  were  attended 
by  a  most  varied  company:  painters  and  poets, 
models,  actresses,  dames  of  high  degree,  politi- 
cians and  men  of  the  sword,  all  society  in  short, 
liked  to  be  seen  in  the  Rue  de  1'Abbaye. 

Clad  in  high  boots,  cut  low  in  front,  in  violet 
velvet  trousers  and  a  coat  of  the  same  material 
decorated  with  Polish  Brandenburgs,  flanked  by  a 
Scotch  greyhound  almost  as  big  as  himself,  the 
master  of  the  house  received  his  visitors,  listened 
to  them,  talked  with  them,  without  interrupting 
his  work;  he  created  fresh  marvels  with  the  chisel 
while  the  conversation  flowed  unrestrained,  and 
thus  his  labors  became  simultaneously  a  gossip 
and  a  spectacle. 

In  the  novel  excitement  of  surroundings  so 
brilliant,  so  varied,  and  of  morals  so  easy, 
Julienne  committed  the  imprudence  which  was  to 
settle  the  fate  of  her  whole  life.  Thanks  to  her 

10 


To  Victor  Hugo 

independent  spirit,  and  still  more  to  her  beauty, 
she  very  soon  established  her  position  in  Pradier's 
house.  She  came  there  often,  remained  long,  and 
consented  to  pose  for  him.2 

And  when  one  day  the  sculptor  desired  for  him- 
self this  flower  so  superior  in  delicacy  and  aroma 
to  those  usually  found  in  the  studios,  he  had  but 
to  bend  down  and  pluck  it. 

He  made  Julienne  his  mistress  in  1825.  In 
1826  she  gave  him  a  little  daughter  whom  we 
shall  meet  again  later.  But  now  arose  difficulties 
of  a  practical  nature.  James  Pradier,  ex-Prix  de 
Rome,  Chevalier  de  la  Legion  d'Honneur, 
Membre  de  I'lnstitut,  Professor  de  1'Ecole  des 
Beaux-Arts,  could  not  with  propriety,  according 
to  his  ideas,  marry  a  model. 

He  does  not  dream  of  it  for  an  instant,  but  as 
he  wishes  to  do  the  girl  some  kindness,  however 
unsuitable,  he  manages  to  insinuate  her  into  the 
theatrical  world  and  to  put  her  on  the  boards. 
Having  friends  in  Brussels,  he  decrees  that  she 
shall  go  thither  to  study  and  make  her  first  ap- 

2  She  posed,  not,  as  has  been  stated,  and  as  we  ourselves  have 
erroneously  remarked,  for  statues  in  the  towns  of  Lille  and 
Strasburg,  but  for  numerous  studies  of  the  head  and  the  nude 
which  Pradier  afterwards  made  use  of;  thus  the  features  of 
Julienne  may  be  recognized  in  almost  all  the  rough  studies  be- 
longing to  the  first  portion  of  Pradier's  career,  which  are  ex- 
hibited under  glass  in  the  museum  at  Geneva. — L.  G. 

II 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

pearance ;  and  as  she  needs  guidance,  advice,  and 
protection,  he  writes  her  almost  every  day  long 
letters  in  which  platitudes  alternate  with  vulgar- 
ity. The  correspondence  continues,  wordy  and 
trivial,  interminable  and  foolish,  a  repulsive  mix- 
ture of  boasting  and  preaching.  Does  Julienne 
show  distaste  for  vaudeville  ?  Pradier  proclaims 
that  form  of  acting  to  be  the  most  charming  in 
the  world,  and  places  it  far  above  tragedy,  which 
he  pronounces  tiresome  and  chilling.  If  Julienne 
complains  that  she  has  but  one  dress,  Pradier  tells 
her  that  only  the  leading  lights  of  the  stage 
possess  more.  If  she  ventures  a  timid  request  for 
money,  he  answers  that  he  has  none  himself,  and 
offers  her  a  book  of  fairy-tales  illustrated  under 
his  supervision. 

She  had  to  keep  herself  alive  somehow,  and 
when  the  poor  thing  had  pledged  everything  she 
possessed  at  the  pawnbroker's  she  wrote  plain- 
tively :  "This  is  the  only  money  my  talents  have 
earned  for  me  so  far."  She  might  perhaps  have 
been  reduced  to  some  desperate  measure  had  not 
chance  placed  her  in  the  path  of  Felix  Harel. 

Although  an  incorrigible  Bonapartist  and  con- 
sequently a  conspirator  by  trade,  Harel  seems  to 
have  been  above  all  a  man  of  the  theater ;  in  the 
midst  of  his  political  preoccupations  one  can  al- 

12 


To  Victor  Hugo 

ways  discern  his  predilection  for  things  pertaining 
to  the  stage.  He  also  had  a  very  definite  convic- 
tion that  politics  and  the  drama,  statesmen  and 
ballet-dancers,  have  always  been  closely  linked  to- 
gether. So,  whether  he  was  for  the  moment 
pamphleteer,  financier,  or  prefect,  whether  he  was 
holding  an  appointment,  or  in  full  flight,  he  always 
had  a  finger  in  some  theatrical  pie,  either  as  a 
director,  a  manager,  or  a  private  adviser.  At  the 
time  he  first  met  Julienne  he  was  filling  the  latter 
capacity  at  the  Theatre  Royal  in  Brussels.  He 
presented  the  young  woman.  Without  further 
training  than  that  which  Pradier  had  directed 
from  afar,  we  know  that  she  made  her  first  ap- 
pearance in  Brussels  at  the  beginning  of  the  year 
1829 — to  be  exact,  on  the  i/th  of  February. 

On  that  day  she  informs  Pradier  that  her  debut 
has  been  successful  and  that  the  Brussels  press  is 
favorable.  He  at  once  thanks  Providence  and 
decides  that  she  can  henceforth  support  herself 
by  her  talent.  He  writes:  "Is  not  this  a  great 
pleasure  to  you?  Does  it  not  lift  a  weight  from 
your  heart,  you  who  have  such  a  noble  soul  ?  How 
sweet  is  the  bread  one  has  earned  so  honorably! 
For  my  part,  I  feel  that  all  your  faults  are  con- 
doned by  the  trouble  you  are  taking.  Your  per- 
severance will  be  rewarded,  never  doubt  it.  Go 

13 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

on  working!  Time  can  never  hang  heavy  when 
one  is  laboring  honestly;  study  carries  more 
flowers  than  thorns." 

Having  spoken  thus,  the  artist  returned  to  his 
business  and  his  pleasures,  not  without  having 
exhorted  Julienne  to  remain  in  Brussels  as  long 
as  possible.  He  was  not  ignorant  of  the  passion- 
ate desire  of  the  young  woman  to  see  her  babe 
once  more,  but  he  feared  that  if  she  should  not 
find  an  engagement  in  Paris  like  the  one  she  en- 
joyed in  Brussels,  she  would  again  be,  morally  at 
least,  on  his  hands.  Therefore,  redoubling  his 
cautious  advice  and  his  counsels  of  prudence,  he 
implores  her  not  to  relinquish  a  certainty  for  an 
uncertainty. 

However,  nothing  deterred  her.  Julienne,  as 
she  used  to  say  afterwards,  would  rather  have 
trudged  the  distance  that  separated  her  from  her 
child  on  foot,  than  waited  any  longer.  The 
events  of  1829  spared  her  the  trouble.  Owing  to 
certain  evidences  of  internal  discontent  the  gov- 
ernment of  Charles  X  was  developing  liberal  pro- 
clivities. Among  other  political  exiles,  it  allowed 
Felix  Harel  to  return,  and  with  him  his  illustrious 
mistress,  Mile.  Georges.  Julienne  shared  their 
lot.  She  accompanied  them  not  only  to  Paris,  but 
to  the  Theater  of  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  which  un- 

14 


JULIETTE  DROUET,  ABOUT  1320 
From   Champmartin's   picture. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

der  Harel's  influence  rapidly  became  the  strong- 
hold of  romanticism,  and  on  the  27th  of  February, 
1830,  she  made  her  debut  on  its  stage  in  the  part 
of  Emma,  in  L'Homme  du  Monde  by  Ancelot  and 
Saintine.  Then  she  migrated  almost  at  once  to 
the  Odeon,  of  which  Harel  had  just  undertaken 
the  management  without,  however,  resigning  that 
of  the  Porte  St.  Martin.  She  played  various 
parts  there  throughout  the  year  1831. 

We  shall  hear  later  on  that  she  was  beautiful, 
but  for  the  present  we  must  confine  ourselves  to 
the  question  of  her  talent  and  dramatic  qualities. 
It  has  been  hinted  that  she  owed  her  success  solely 
to  her  lovely  face  and  graceful  figure,  and  that  she 
was  one  of  those  ephemeral  favorites  who  reap 
popular  applause  in  return  for  the  exhibition  of 
their  charms.  The  truth  seems  to  be  that  "la  belle 
Juliette,"  as  she  was  already  called,  gave  proofs 
of  distinguished  powers,  although  one  is  fain  to 
admit  that  at  this  distance  of  time  it  is  not  easy 
to  define  her  capacity  with  any  exactitude.  For 
one  thing,  it  was  never  Juliette's  good  fortune  to 
play  an  important  part  which  has  since  become  a 
classic,  and  by  which  her  true  qualities  could  be 
gauged:  in  Harel's  troupe  the  first-class  parts 
were  already  justly  monopolized  by  Mile.  Georges 
and  Madame  Dorval.  Also,  nearly  all  the  plays 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

in  which  Juliette  appeared  are  nowadays  looked 
upon  as  antiquated  and  sometimes  even  absurd. 
In  fact,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  they  ever 
could  have  been  given.  It  will  be  wiser,  there- 
fore, to  rely  mainly  on  Pradier's  letters  to  dis- 
cover what  were  the  natural  gifts  which  could 
have  inspired  that  artist  to  make  of  his  mistress 
an  actress,  and  even  a  tragedian. 

Pradier,  then,  considered  Juliette  well  equipped 
by  nature  in  respect  of  sentiment,  intelligence, 
and  voice  production;  but  he  criticised  in  her  a 
certain  timidity  and  lack  of  assurance,  sufficient 
to  mar  her  entrances  and  cover  her  exits  with 
ridicule.  He  also  thought  fit  to  observe  to  her 
that  once  she  was  on  the  scene  and  had  overcome 
her  initial  fright,  she  overacted  her  parts  and  was 
not  sufficiently  natural ;  she  forgot  to  address  her- 
self to  the  audience,  and  would  speak  into  the 
wings,  and  neglect  to  vary  her  gestures,  intona- 
tions and  pauses. 

To  sum  up,  fire,  intelligence,  and  an  adequate 
vocal  organ,  but  shyness,  awkwardness,  monoto- 
nous delivery,  and  hesitation  in  gesture  and  gait : 
such  seem  to  have  been  the  dramatic  qualities  and 
shortcomings  of  "la  belle  Juliette."  The  testi- 
mony of  Pradier  has  been  confirmed  by  that  of 
I' Artiste.  If  there  is  any  need  to  say  more,  we 

16 


To  Victor  Hugo 

can  judge  by  an  analysis  of  her  engagements  with 
Harel. 

On  the  7th  of  February,  1832,  Harel  signs  a 
contract  with  her  for  thirteen  months,  to  begin 
from  the  1st  of  March  following.  He  brings  her 
back  from  the  Odeon  to  the  Porte  St.  Martin  and 
promises  her  the  modest  salary  of  four  thousand 
francs  per  annum,  payable  monthly.  But  he  does 
not  treat  her  as  a  "general  utility"  actress — on  the 
contrary,  he  insists  that  she  keep  principally  to 
the  part  of  jeune  premiere  in  comedy,  tragedy, 
and  drama ;  that  she  learn  daily  at  least  forty  lines 
or  verses  of  the  parts  which  shall  be  allotted  to 
her;  that  she  furnish  at  her  own  expense  all  the 
dresses  necessary  for  her  parts ;  that  she  be  pres- 
ent at  all  rehearsals  called  by  the  administration 
of  the  theater.  On  the  I3th  of  January,  1833, 
the  two  agree  that  the  engagement  shall  be  pro- 
longed on  the  same  conditions  until  the  ist  of 
April,  1834.  Between  whiles,  Juliette  continued 
to  create  parts. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  she  led  the  customary 
life  of  a  theatrical  star.  From  the  Boulevard  St. 
Denis,  where  she  lived,  to  the  Boulevard  du  Tem- 
ple, which  was  then  the  hub  of  the  social  world 
and  the  center  of  amusement,  the  distance  was 
negligible.  She  was  therefore  present  at  every 

17 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

scene  of  this  ceaseless  round  of  entertainment. 
Her  wardrobe  enjoyed  a  certain  renown.  Her 
journeys,  one  of  which  was  to  Italy  towards  the 
end  of  1832,  helped  to  keep  her  before  the  public. 
Beautiful  as  a  goddess,  merrier  than  ever,  her 
bearing  unconcerned,  her  arm  lightly  placed  with- 
in that  of  the  chance  companion  of  the  moment, 
her  eyes  flashing  fire,  though  her  heart  might  be 
full  to  bursting,  she  sailed  towards  Cytheraea 
without  apparent  regret,  without  thought  of  re- 
turn. It  was  at  this  moment  that  Victor  Hugo 
succeeded  in  bringing  her  back  into  port  and 
keeping  her  there  for  ever,  the  slave  of  one 
master,  the  woman  of  one  love. 


18 


CHAPTER  II 

PRINCESS    NEGRONI 

T\VO  portraits  of  Victor  Hugo  are  extant :  one 
by  Deveria  executed  in  1829,  the  other  by  Leon 
Noel,  in  1832,*  What  a  change  is  visible  in  the 
short  space  of  three  years!  The  "monumental" 
brow  which  reminded  Theophile  Gautier  of  the 
"fronton  de  temple  Grec"  is  the  same,  but  whereas 
in  1829  it  was  instinct  with  lofty  thought  and 
pleasant  fancies,  in  1832  worry  and  suspicion 
have  already  scored  it  deeply  with  lines  of  care. 
In  1829,  Deveria  recognized  and  rendered  the 
characteristic  expression  of  the  poet,  that  bright, 
upward  glance  which  ten  years  before  had  caused 
the  author  of  the  Odes  to  be  compared  to  a 
stained-glass  archangel.  In  1832,  Leon  Noel  saw 
a  fixed,  overshadowed  gaze  whose  severity  is 
further  accentuated  by  knitted  brows.  In  1829, 

1  The  portrait  of  Victor  Hugo  by  Deveria  has  often  been 
reproduced.  It  is  popular.  Leon  Noel's  lithograph  is  less 
known.  It  is  to  be  found  either  in  the  Artiste  in  the  course  of 
the  year  1832  or  in  the  Musee  Victor  Hugo.  We  reproduced 
it  in  the  Contemporaine  of  February  25th,  1902. — L.  G. 

19 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

fleshy,  sinuous  lips  always  ready  for  a  smile  or 
a  kiss  indicate  both  sensuality  and  humor.  In 
1832  they  are  tightly  compressed,  their  outline 
exaggeratedly  firm;  they  give  the  impression  of 
having  forgotten  joy  and  learnt  to  express  only 
will.  Even  in  the  quality  of  the  flesh-tints  the 
artists  disagree.  According  to  Deveria  the  pallor 
natural  to  the  poet  bears  the  impress  of  health  and 
placidity,  whereas  Leon  Noel's  rendering  reveals 
sickliness  and  a  sense  of  doom. 

What  then  had  happened  between  the  dates  of 
the  two  portraits?  Had  the  whole  character  of 
the  poet  changed?  Had  he  lost  some  precious 
article  of  faith  or  conviction,  or  was  it  that  the 
mainspring  of  his  enthusiasm  had  failed  him? 
Nay,  his  soul  still  cherished  the  same  treasures 
of  idealism.  The  former  penitent  of  the  Abbe 
Lammenais  still  preserved  at  thirty  his  ardent, 
perhaps  even  narrow  Catholicism,  his  cult  of  pu- 
rity, his  contempt  for  physical  indulgence,  his  de- 
light in  the  joys  and  duties  of  family-life.  Eager 
for  self-sacrifice,  rich  in  the  hopes  and  illusions 
he  confided  to  his  few  intimate  friends,  he 
dreamed  of  sharing  everything  with  the  people, 
towards  whom  the  trend  of  events  inclined  him  to 
turn;  just  as  he  had  once  written  Les  Lettres  a  la 
fiancee  for  a  single  reader,  so  he  had  now  pub- 

20 


To  Victor  Hugo 

lished  for  the  crowd  Les  Feuilles  d'Automne,  the 
curious  preface  to  that  collection,  and  in  the  col- 
lection itself  the  sublime  Priere  pour  tons.  His 
was  a  soul  profoundly  religious  and  a  lofty  mind 
which  aspired  to  raise  itself  higher  still. 

But  he  did  not  live  by  thought  alone.  Many  of 
those  who  watched  him  working  without  intermis- 
sion, with  a  method  and  a  will  that  defied  human 
weakness,  who  saw  how  numerous  were  his  lec- 
tures, how  varied  his  researches,  and  who  wit- 
nessed the  incessant  travail  of  his  imagination, 
thought  that  the  author  of  Hernani  and  Dona  Sol 
must  be  lacking  in  human  sensibility.  He  protests 
against  this.  In  a  letter  to  Ste.  Beuve,  he  says: 
"I  live  only  by  my  emotions ;  to  love,  or  to  crave 
for  love  and  friendship,  is  the  fundamental  aim — 
Happy  or  unhappy,  public  or  private — of  my 
life."  2  He  might  equally  have  added :  "That  is 
why  for  the  last  two  years  my  brow  is  no  longer 
placid,  why  my  eyes  seek  the  ground,  why  my  lips 
are  so  bitterly  compressed." 

The  secret  of  the  change  in  Victor  Hugo's 
physiognomy  proceeds  from  the  treachery  of  his 
wife  and  his  best  friend.  Love  and  friendship 
failed  him  together.  His  moral  distress  was  im- 

2  Victor  Hugo.    Correspondance.    Letter  to   Ste.   Beuve,  Au- 
gust 22nd,  1833. 

21 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

mense,  his  pain  unfathomable.  They  inspired 
him  with  plaints  so  touching  that  after  hearing 
them  one  asks  oneself  whether  it  can  ever  be 
possible  for  him  to  forget  or  recover.  One 
despairs  of  the  healing  of  the  man  who  writes: 
"  I  have  acquired  the  conviction  that  it  is  possible 
for  the  one  who  possesses  all  my  love,  to  cease 
to  care  for  me.  I  am  no  longer  happy."  3 

Calmness  did  return  to  him,  however.  It  was 
thus:  For  ten  years,  that  is,  practically  ever 
since  her  marriage,  Madame  Victor  Hugo  had 
behaved  in  such  a  manner  that  when  the  day  of 
the  betrayal,  in  which  she  was  the  accomplice  of 
her  husband's  friend,  dawned,  the  poet  was  able 
to  remember  her  with  contempt.  Although 
fairly  gifted  in  appearance,  she  possessed  neither 
taste  nor  cleverness  in  the  matter  of  dress;  she 
had  always  shown  herself  to  him  in  careless  at- 
tire and  unfashionable  gowns.  Absent-minded 
and  limited  in  intelligence,  she  remained  uncul- 
tured and  oblivious  of  the  genius  of  her  husband 
and  of  achievements  of  which  she  appreciated 
/only  the  financial  value.  In  addition,  she  had 
/  declined  to  share  the  noble  ideal  originally  pro- 
\  posed  to  her  by  her  twenty-year-old  bridegroom : 

V      8  Victor    Hugo,    Correspondance,   letter   to    Ste.    Beuve,    July 
>h,  1831. 

22 


To  Victor  Hugo 

love  considered  as  "the  ardent  and  pure  union  of  \ 
two  souls,  a  union  begun  on  earth  to  end  not  even    / 
in  Heaven."  4     The  poet  was  thus  authorized  and  / 
even  forced  to  seek  happiness  in  the  arms  of  som^r 
other  woman.     If  Victor  Hugo  had  wished  to 
avoid  that  "other  woman"  he  would  have  had  to 
remain  forever  concealed  in  his  tower  of  ivory — 
which  certainly  did  not  happen. 

He  emerged  from  it  in  the  Spring  of  1832, 
and  on  the  26th  of  May  appeared  at'  an  artists' 
ball.  There  he  saw  Juliette  for  the  first  time,  but 
she  was  so  beautiful  and  so  captivating  that  he 
was  afraid  of  her,  and  dared  not  address  her. 
Five  years  later  he  recorded  this  impression  of 
admiring  timidity  in  the  book  in  which  they  had 
agreed  to  celebrate  all  their  anniversaries,  namely 
the  Voix  Interieures.5 

For  more  than  six  months  the  poet  lacked  the 
courage  to  seek  his  vision  again,  but  in  the  early 
days  of  ^1833,  he  found  Juliette  among  the  ac- 
tresses Harel  suggested  to  him  at  the  Porte  St. 
Martin  for  his  play,  Lucrece  Borgia.  He  ac- 
cepted her  at  once  and  gave  her  a  small  part,  that 
of  Princesse  Negroni.  Then  the  rehearsals  be- 
gan. Juliette  admits  in  one  of  her  letters  that 

4  Lettres  &  la  Fiancee. 

s Under  the  heading:  A  Ol.  (Olympio)   XII. 

23 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

she  showed  herself  very  coquettish  and  mischie- 
vous. 

According  to  her,  the  poet  made  up  his  mind  the 
first  day  and  the  first  hour.  But  matters  did  not 
really  proceed  so  easily.  Victor  Hugo  who,  as 
stated  above,  cherished  the  highest  and  purest 
moral  ideal,  must  have  carried  his  principles  with 
him  into  the  wings  and  on  the  stage.  He  was  not 
partial  to  actresses;  he  was  suspicious  of  them 
and  made  no  secret  of  the  feeling.  One  must 
picture  him  rather  as  on  the  defensive  than  bold 
and  adventurous. 

His  attire  and  appearance  were  not  calculated 
to  ensure  his  social  success.  We  hear  from 
Juliette  herself  that  he  wore  his  hair  en  brous- 
saille,  and  that  his  smile  revealed  "crocodile's 
teeth."  Allowing  himself  to  be  dressed  by  his 
tailor  in  the  fashions  of  four  or  five  years  earlier, 
his  trousers  were  firmly  braced  above  the  waist, 
tightly  drawn  over  his  boots  and  fastened  under 
the  instep  by  a  steel  chain.  To  sum  up,  as  a 
dandy  who  writes  these  details  concludes,  he  was 
a  worthy  citizen  desirous  of  being  in  the  fashion, 
but  unable  to  manage  it. 

Fortunately  the  said  citizen  could  speak,  and  his 
words  of  gold  were  sufficient  to  gloss  over  any 
personal  disadvantages.  To  men  he  discoursed 

24 


JULIETTE   DROUET   IX   THE   ROLE  OF   THE 
PRINCESS  NEGRONI 


To  Victor  Hugo 

of  his  hopes  and  plans  and  even  his  forecasts  for 
the  future ;  to  women  of  their  beauty  and  the  su- 
premacy of  such  a  gift.  Men  found  his  arro- 
gance intolerable  and  complained  that  they  must 
either  always  listen,  or  talk  to  him  of  himself. 
But  women  liked  him  for  abasing  his  pride  before 
them ;  they  appreciated  his  good  manners,  his  ur- 
banity, and  the  incomparable  art  with  which  he 
cast  his  laurels  at  their  feet.  The  god  took  on 
humanity  for  them ;  they  were  careful  to  pose  as 
goddesses  before  him.  Juliette  possessed  every- 
thing needful  to  accomplish  this  end. 

She  was  about  to  enter  her  twenty-sixth  year ; 
very  shortly  afterwards,  Theophile  Gautier  wrote 
this  fulsome  description  of  her,  to  please  the  mas- 
ter: 

"Mademoiselle  Juliette's  countenance  is  of  a 
regular  and  delicate  beauty ;  the  nose  chiseled  and 
of  handsome  outline,  the  eyes  limpid  and  diamond- 
bright  ;  the  mouth  moistly  crimson,  and  tiny  even 
in  her  gayest  fits  of  laughter.  These  features, 
charming  in  themselves,  are  set  in  an  oval  of  the 
suavest  and  most  harmonious  form.  A  clear, 
serene  forehead  like  the  marble  of  a  Greek  temple 
crowns  this  delicious  face;  abundant  black  hair 
with  wonderful  reflections  in  it,  brings  out  the 
diaphanous  and  lustrous  purity  of  her  complex- 

25 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ion.  Her  neck,  shoulders  and  arms  are  of  classic 
perfection;  she  would  be  a  worthy  inspiration  to 
sculptors  and  is  well  equipped  to  enter  into  com- 
petition with  those  beautiful  young  Athenians 
who  lowered  their  veils  before  the  gaze  of  Prax- 
iteles conceiving  his  Venus."  6 

These  elegant  phrases  probably  represent  very 
imperfectly  the  impression  produced  by  Juliette. 
We  have  had  the  privilege  of  perusing  some  of 
the  proposals  addressed  to  her  and  we  have  read 
the  cruel  novel  Alphonse  Karr  prided  himself  on 
having  written  about  her.7  Everything  conspires 
to  show  that  she  shone  and  dazzled  especially  by 
her  all-conquering  air  of  youth  and  ingenuous- 
ness. When  she  passed,  spring  was  over.  Her 
age,  condition,  manner  of  life,  had  made  of  her  a 
woman,  while  her  smile  and  movements  kept  her 
still  a  girl.  Her  gait  was  in  fact  so  fairy-like 
that  her  admirers  all  make  use,  certainly  without 
collusion,  of  the  adjective,  "aerien"  Her  face 
presented  a  perfect  image  of  calmness  and  purity. 
Did  she  raise  her  eyes,  a  soft,  velvety,  sometimes 
mournful  gaze  was  revealed — did  she  lower  them, 
it  was  still  the  dawn,  but  a  dawn  concealing  itself 
behind  a  veil. 

6  Theophile   Gautier,   Portraits  Contemporains. 

7  Alphonse  Karr,  Une  Heure  Trap  Tard. 

26 


To  Victor  Hugo 

All  beautiful  countenances  have  a  soul;  upon 
Juliette's  could  be  read  less  contentment  than  un- 
satisfied ardor,  more  melancholy  than  serenity. 
Not  luxury  nor  pleasure  nor  flattery  were 
able  to  satisfy  that  dearest  desire  her  heart  had 
held  since  she  was  sixteen,  which  was  to  become 
the  passionate  companion  of  an  honest  man.  She 
lent  herself  to  her  lovers,  but  her  eyes  made  it 
plain  that  she  still  sought  the  perfect  one  to  whom 
she  would  some  day  capitulate.  According  to 
herself,  and  we  have  no  reason  to  doubt  her,  she 
selected  Victor  Hugo  as  soon  as  she  made  his  ac- 
quaintance. She  expended  herself  in  advances 
and  coquetries  and  infused  into  the  study  and  ex- 
pression of  her  small  part  all  the  art  of  which 
she  was  capable.  In  the  third  act  of  the  play 
when  Maffio  said  to  her:  "L'amitie  ne  remplit 
pas  tout  le  c&ur"  she  had  to  query:  "Mon 
Dieii,  qu'est-ce  qui  remplit  tout  le  cceur?"  It 
seems  that  at  rehearsals  she  did  not  wait  for 
Maffio's  answer,  but  turned  subtly  towards  the 
poet  and  sought  him  with  her  eyes.  He,  how- 
ever, still  hung  back;  a  tradition  attributed  to 
Frederic  Lemaitre,  which  we  have  carefully 
verified,8  informs  us  that  he  surprised  even  the 

8  We  heard  it   from  Monsieur  Benezit,   who  was  often  with 
Frederic  Lemaitre  about  the  year  1872. — L.  G. 

27 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

actors  of  the  Porte  St.  Martin  by  the  respect- 
ful tone  he  maintained  towards  his  beautiful  in- 
terpreter. Far  from  addressing  her  in  the  famil- 
iar manner  customary  in  theatrical  circles,  he 
called  her  Mademoiselle  Juliette,  kissed  her  hand, 
and  bowed  low  before  her.  Frederic  could  not 
believe  his  eyes. 

At  last  the  evening  of  the  first  performance  ar- 
rived; the  success  of  the  piece  was  immediate. 
Juliette  had  her  share  of  it.  She  was  so  beautiful 
as  the  poisoner  that,  as  Theophile  Gautier  says, 
the  public  forgot  to  pity  her  unhappy  guests  and 
thought  them  fortunate  to  die  after  kissing  her 
hand.9  After  the  third  act,  she  received  con- 
gratulations even  from  Mademoiselle  Georges, 
who  folded  her  in  her  arms  and  covered  her  with 
kisses.  As  for  the  author,  we  do  not  know  what 
he  did  in  the  first  blush,  but  the  next  morning 
he  wrote  thus : 

"In  Lucrece  Borgia,  certain  personages  of  sec- 
ondary importance  are  represented  at  the  Porte  St. 
Martin  by  actors  of  the  first  order,  who  perform 
with  grace,  loyalty  and  perfect  taste,  in  the  semi- 
obscurity  of  their  parts.  The  author  here  thanks 
them.  Among  these,  the  public  particularly  dis- 
tinguished Mademoiselle  Juliette.  It  can  hardly 

8  Theophile  Gautier,  Portraits   Contemporains. 

28 


To  Victor  Hugo 

be  said  that  Princesse  Negroni  is  a  part;  it  is  in 
some  sense  an  apparition;  a  figure,  beautiful, 
young,  fatal,  which  floats  by,  raising  one  corner 
of  the  somber  veil  that  covers  Italy  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  sixteenth  century.  Mademoi- 
selle Juliette  threw  into  this  figure  an  extraordi- 
nary virility.  She  had  few  words  to  say,  but  she 
filled  them  with  meaning.  This  actress  only  re- 
quires opportunity  to  reveal  forcibly  to  the  public 
a  talent  full  of  soulfulness,  passion  and  truth."  10 

Nothing  could  be  better  said  or  more  openly  de- 
clared, and  the  interpreter  of  the  part  was  thus 
informed  of  the  intentions  of  the  author:  "he 
should  adopt  her,  make  her  his  own,  was  ready  to 
share  his  own  glory  with  the  youthful  renown  of 
Negroni.  For  her  he  will  conceive  marvelous 
parts — she  will  create  them!" 

Juliette  understood  him  perfectly.  With  the 
ardor  of  a  twenty-five-year-old  imagination — ex- 
cited by  love,  she  began  to  dream  of  her  poet,  of 
their  two  lives  henceforward  united  in  a  common 
success.  While  Victor  still  wavered,  still  hesi- 
tated whether  to  seek  this  actress  of  whom  thou- 
sands of  alarming  anecdotes  were  current,  she 
made  foolish  projects,  settled  trivial  details, 
savored  one  by  one  those  joys  of  the  dawn  of 

10Lucrtce  Borgia.    First  note  to  the  original  edition. 

29 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

love  which  so  many  women  prefer  to  the  delights 
of  possession. 

He  came  at  last  on  the  27th  of  February, 
Shrove  Sunday,  towards  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon. The  weather  had  been  beautiful,  one  of 
those  soft  spring  days  that  enhance  the  beauty 
of  Parisian  women  and  make  the  men  pensive. 
The  streets  were  littered  with  booths,  noisy  with 
fireworks,  discordant  with  raucous  voices.  The 
Boulevard  du  Temple  exhibited  a  fair  where,  on 
that  particular  day,  masks,  and  songs  added 
variety  and  movement. 

Victor  Hugo,  who  lived  in  the  Place  Royale  and 
never  drove  in  a  cab,  had  to  cross  this  scene  on 
foot.  His  thoughts  were  still  confused,  he  who 
was  ordinarily  so  determined  in  his  plans,  still 
debated  whether  he  should  mount  the  actress's 
stairs.  After  all,  this  child  seemed  fond  of  him — 
but  whom  was  she  not  fond  of  ?  Who  was  there 
that  did  not  figure  on  the  list  of  her  lovers  ?  Yes- 
terday, Alphonse  Karr,  loutish,  a  babbler,  a 
writer  of  romances,  fairly  honest,  but  so  ponder- 
ous in  his  pretentious  and  everlasting  coat  of 
black  velvet!  To-day  a  Russian  Prince  who 
was  said  to  have  offered  Juliette  a  marvelous 
trousseau  copied  from  the  wedding  outfit  of 
Madame  la  Duchesse  d'Orleans.  He  was  also 

30 


To  Victor  Hugo 

credited  with  the  intention  of  installing  her  in  a 
sumptuous  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  I'Echiquien 
.  .  .  What  should  a  poet,  a  great  poet  conscious 
of  his  mission,  want  with  such  a  girl  ? 

Then  a  voice  sang  in  the  memory  of  Victor 
Hugo,  a  voice  almost  supernatural,  like  those 
with  which  he  used  to  endow  the  good  fairies  in 
the  days  when  he  covered  the  margins  of  his  les- 
son books  with  fancies.  "Mon  Dieu"  it  wailed, 
"quest-ce  qui  remplit  tout  le  coeur?"  And  at 
last  the  poet  walked  up  to  place  the  answer  at  the 
feet  of  his  new  friend. 

Like  all  great  hearts,  Victor  and  Juliette  fell 
head  over  ears  in  love  and  thought  of  nothing 
else.  The  poet  was  no  longer  to  be  found  in  the 
Place  Royale,  or  if  he  was,  he  remained  ab- 
stracted, a  stranger  at  his  own  hearth. 

He,  usually  so  precise,  so  punctual  and  me- 
thodical, now  neglects  his  guests  and  is  late  for 
meals.  When  evening  comes  and  his  drawing- 
room  is  full  of  voices,  song  and  discussion,  sur- 
rounded by  women  who  smile  upon  him  and  men 
who  render  him  homage,  he  forgets  everything, 
even  to  be  polite.  His  eye  is  on  the  clock,  he 
longs  for  the  blessed  hour  of  the  rendezvous  at 
9,  Rue  St.  Denis.  Sometimes  he  snatches  up  a 
stray  sheet  of  paper  and  scribbles  feverishly. 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Verse  or  prose?  More  often  it  is  verse,  for  it 
will  be  offered  to  Juliette,  and  nothing  flatters 
her  so  much  as  these  poetical  surprises  created  in 
the  midst  of  the  din  and  diversions  of  a  social 
circle. 

Neither  did  she  give  herself  in  niggardly  fash- 
ion. From  the  very  beginning  she  said  to  him: 
"I  am  good  for  nothing  but  to  love  you."  She 
threw  herself  thoroughly,  magnificently,  into  the 
part. 

Thus  quoth  she — and  wrote  likewise;  for  she 
also  wrote  from  everywhere — from  her  room, 
from  a  friend's  house,  from  her  box  at  the 
theater,  from  a  chance  cafe.  For  her  tender 
scribbles,  as  she  called  them,  any  scrap  of  paper 
would  serve,  even  an  envelope  or  the  margin  of  a 
newspaper ;  and  for  instrument  a  pencil,  a  black- 
ened pin,  even  a  steel  pen,  "that  novel  invention  of 
which  everyone  is  talking,  but  which  she  hardly 
knows  how  to  use." 

Of  the  form  of  her  letters  she  takes  little  heed. 
No  lexicon  is  needed  to  say  that  one  loves.  A 
woman  in  the  throes  of  passion  does  not  worry 
about  grammar.  Juliette  is  of  that  opinion,  and 
that  is  why  her  early  letters  are  so  full  of  charm. 
They  exhale  the  perfume  of  love,  and  also  its 
timidity. 

32 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Her  letters  were  not  merely  a  means  of  giving 
vent  to  her  feelings,  they  seemed  to  her  the  only 
occupation  fit  for  a  sweetheart  worthy  of  the 
name,  when  the  lover  was  absent  or  delayed.  On 
the  28th  of  February,  1833,  Victor  Hugo  had  left 
her  early  in  the  morning.  She  had  rushed  to  the 
window  to  follow  him  with  her  eyes  as  long  as  he 
was  in  sight.  At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St.  Denis, 
as  he  was  about  to  turn  into  the  Rue  St.  Martin, 
he  looked  back;  they  exchanged  a  volley  of  kisses. 
Then  she  found  herself  lonely  indeed,  oblivious 
of  her  surroundings  like  a  somnambulist  who 
walks  and  speaks  and  acts  in  a  dream.  Around 
her  was  an  immense  void,  in  her  heart  one  sole 
desire:  to  see  the  poet  again  and  never  to  part 
from  him.  It  was  to  fill  that  void  and  beguile  that 
desire  that  she  took  up  the  habit  of  writing  to 
him. 

He  on  his  part  repaid  letters  and  messages  as 
much  as  possible  with  his  own  presence.  Any 
time  he  could  snatch  from  his  children  and  work 
and  visits  to  publishers  or  theater  managers  he 
gave  to  Juliette.  As  Lucrece  Borgia  continued 
to  reap  a  signal  success — the  greatest,  from  the 
financial  point  of  view  that  the  Porte  St.  Martin 
had  ever  experienced — Harel  asked  the  author 
for  a  new  play.  Victor  Hugo  wrote  Marie  Tudor 

33 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

in  very  few  days,  and  the  principal  parts  had  just 
been  allotted:  to  Mademoiselle  Georges  the 
Queen,  to  Juliette,  Jane.  Under  pretext  of  re- 
hearsing we  find  our  lovers  lunching  together  al- 
most every  day.  If  there  was  really  a  rehearsal, 
they  met  again  afterwards  on  the  stage  and  tasted 
the  rare  pleasure  of  sharing  their  work,  as  they 
shared  their  pleasure.  When  they  did  not  re- 
hearse they  hurried  out  of  town.  Furtively  yet 
boldly,  timidly  but  merrily,  they  started  on  one 
of  those  strolls,  partly  Parisian  and  partly  sub- 
urban, which  according  to  Juliette  were  the  chief 
enchantment  of  their  liaison. 

Paris  was  not  then  the  dusty  conglomeration 
of  eight-story-high  houses  it  is  now.  Instead  of 
spreading  over  the  surrounding  country,  it  al- 
lowed the  country  to  encroach  upon  itself.  At 
the  foot  of  Montmartre  (which  Juliette  always 
calls  a  mountain),  real  windmills  waved  their 
long  arms ;  along  the  Butte  aux  Cailles,  a  genuine 
brook  purled  among  the  lilacs  and  syringa;  on 
the  summit  of  Montparnasse  when  there  was 
dancing,  artists  and  poets,  dandies  and  grisettes, 
trod  actual  grass,  to  the  sound  of  fiddles !  Juli- 
ette had  always  in  her  a  strain  of  bohemianism. 
We  may  therefore  picture  her  in  short,  striped, 
pleated  skirt,  tight  at  the  waist  but  flowing  out 

34 


To  Victor  Hugo 

wide  at  the  bottom  over  white  stockings,  a  little 
silken  cape  covering  her  young  bosom  without 
concealing  its  grace,  her  head  surmounted  by  a 
rose-trimmed  bonnet  with  black  ribbons,  clasping 
the  arm  of  her  "friend,"  her  eyes  sparkling  and 
cheeks  as  rosy  as  her  head-dress.  Her  happi- 
ness, as  she  used  to  say  in  after  days,  was  so  light 
to  carry  that  her  feet  hardly  touched  the  ground. 
Her  pride  in  her  companion  was  such  that  her 
glance  defied  Heaven.  "When  I  hold  your  arm," 
she  wrote  to  him,  "I  am  as  proud  as  if  I  had  made 
you  myself." 

She  did  remake  him,  to  a  certain  extent,  for  it 
was  she  who  insisted  upon  his  becoming  younger 
and  smarter  in  appearance.  He  now  trained  his 
chestnut  locks  over  his  Olympian  brow,  in  careful 
but  unromantic  fashion ;  his  black  eyes  with  their 
blue  depths  resumed  their  upward  glance  when 
they  were  not  plunged  in  those  of  his  mistress; 
his  complexion  which  had  been  so  pale  now 
gained  color  and  soon  when  Auguste  de  Chatillon 
painted  the  poet's  miniature  for  Juliette's  pleas- 
ure, he  was  able  to  endow  him  with  lips  less 
eloquent  than  caressing  without  straying  from 
the  truth.  "The  dear  little  fashionable,"  as  his 
companion  called  him,  compressed  his  sturdy 
figure  into  a  really  handsome  blue  coat  opening 

35 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

over  a  shot  waitscoat.  His  immaculate  linen  and 
the  scarlet  ribbon  of  the  order  Charles  X  had  be- 
stowed upon  him  in  his  youth,  stood  out  in  pleas- 
ant contrast  to  the  somber  hue  of  his  coat.  His 
tiny  feet,  and  hands  as  delicate  as  Juliette's 
own,  completed  this  somewhat  incongruous  exte- 
rior. 

And  the  two  made  expeditions  together,  where- 
ever  they  knew  of,  or  hoped  to  find  moss  and 
trees  and  an  attractive  shelter.  They  went  to 
Montmartre  and  Montrouge,  to  Maison  Blanche 
and  St.  James,  to  Bicetre  and  Meudon,  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Gisors,  St.  Germain-en-Laye  and  Ver- 
sailles. Sometimes  the  poet  pondered  his  work 
as  he  walked.  Silence  was  then  the  order  of  the 
day,  so  Juliette  was  silent — but  more  often  they 
talked,  made  plans  for  the  future,  babbled  merry 
nonsense  and  exchanged  kisses.  Or  else  they 
discussed  their  past :  Victor  told  of  his  studious 
childhood  spent  poring  over  books,  of  his  early 
works,  laborious  and  chaste.  Juliette  recalled 
her  bare-footed  school-girl  pranks.  Both  gloried 
in  the  radiant  memories  of  their  youth. 

But  in  the  midst  of  those  halcyon  days  of  simple 
pleasure,  Fate  began  to  show  herself  unkind. 
First  came  the  failure  of  Marie  Tudor,  then 
Juliette's  disappointment  at  the  Comedie  Fran- 

36 


a 
o 


d 
o 
p 

ffi 


H 
O 


To  Victor  Hugo 

gaise,  and  in  addition  the  persecution  of  her 
creditors  and  the  consequent  quarrels  with  Victor 
Hugo,  with  their  subsequent  scenes  of  tender  rec- 
onciliation. 

The  poor  girl  was  in  fact  overwhelmed  with 
debt.  When  Victor  Hugo,  desirous  of  setting  her 
free  forever,  asked  her  to  draw  up  a  detailed  state- 
ment of  her  affairs,  she  nearly  broke  down  under 
the  task;  for  there  were  not  only  ordinary  bills, 
such  as  twelve  thousand  francs  to  Janisset  the 
jeweler,  a  thousand  francs  to  Poivin  the  glove- 
maker,  six  hundred  francs  to  the  laundress,  two 
hundred  and  sixty  francs  to  Georges  the  hair- 
dresser, four  hundred  francs  to  Villain  the  pur- 
veyor of  rouge,  six  hundred  and  twenty  francs  to 
Madame  Ladon,  dressmaker,  two  thousand  five 
hundred  francs  to  Mesdames  Lebreton  and  Ge- 
rard for  dress  materials,  one  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred francs  to  Jourdain  the  upholsterer — but  also 
fictitious  and  usurious  debts  intended  to  disguise 
money  loans,  and  all  the  more  numerous  because 
they  were  for  the  most  part  invented  under  the 
direction  of  an  attorney  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  Maniere.  She  took  good  care  not  to  re- 
veal to  Victor  Hugo,  whose  own  burdens,  and 
practical,  economical  mind  she  was  well  ac- 
quainted with,  the  amount  of  her  expenditure  and 

37 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  magnitude  of  her  liabilities.  The  moment 
came,  however,  when  the  creditors  realized  that 
they  had  to  deal  with  a  pretty  woman  inefficiently 
vouched  for  by  a  poet.  They  lost  patience  and 
threatened  her,  and  it  was  then  that  Juliette  had 
recourse  to  money-lenders.  The  remedy  was 
worse  than  the  evil.  Stamped  paper  soon  flooded 
her  rooms.  Her  furniture  was  seized,  and  also 
her  salaries  from  the  Theatre  Franqais  and  the 
Porte  St.  Martin.  She  tried  to  save  a  few  clothes 
and  was  arrested  for  illegally  making  away  with 
the  creditors'  property.  Her  landlord  threatened 
her  with  expulsion;  she  imagined  herself  home- 
less and  lost  her  head. 

Instead  of  confiding  in  Victor  Hugo,  her  nat- 
ural protector,  she  had  recourse  to  former 
friends.  There  were  many  such,  from  Pradier 
the  sculptor  to  Sechan  the  scene-painter  of  the 
Opera  and  other  theaters.  Pradier  replied  with 
advice;  he  was  not  without  just  pretext  for  re- 
fusal, for  since  her  intrigue  with  Victor  Hugo 
Juliette  no  longer  wrote  to  the  father  of  her  child 
except  "par  accident  et  monosyllabes"  or  else  in 
a  school-girl's  hand-writing,  calculated  to  cover 
the  pages  in  very  few  words.  Sechan  and  a  few 
others  were  less  stingy;  they  sent  small  but  quite 
insufficient  contributions.  She  was  therefore 

38 


To  Victor  Hugo 

forced  to  take  the  big  step  of  revealing  the  whole 
truth  to  the  beloved. 

The  scene  was  stormy,  although  Victor  Hugo 
did  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  before  complying 
with  an  obligation  that  was  also  a  satisfaction, 
since  it  secured  his  possession  of  Juliette.  Fussy 
and  meticulous  though  he  was  in  the  small  cir- 
cumstances of  life,  he  knew  how  to  be  generous 
and  even  lavish  in  the  great — but  Juliette's  petty 
deceptions  had  infused  doubts  in  his  mind ;  more- 
over, he  was  in  love  and  therefore  jealous.  To- 
wards the  end  of  1833  and  in  the  early  part  of 
1834,  suspicion,  anger,  unjust  recriminations  and 
noisy  quarrels  became  almost  daily  affairs.  As 
invariably  happens  in  these  cases,  friends,  male 
and  female,  interfered.  Juliette  was  slandered  by 
Mademoiselle  Ida  Ferrier,  her  understudy  in  the 
role  of  Jane  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  who  would, 
if  rumor  may  be  trusted,  have  gladly  understudied 
her  also  in  the  heart  of  Victor  Hugo — also  by 
Mademoiselle  Georges,  who  was  getting  on  in 
years  n  and  could  not  forgive  the  lovers  for  not 
acknowledging  her  sovereignty  in  the  green-room 
and  drawing-room  as  they  admitted  it  upon  the 
stage.  To  aspersions  and  reproaches  Juliette  op- 

11  She  was  forty-six  and  beginning  to  grow  fat.  According 
to  Juliette,  she  told  Victor  Hugo  that  his  mistress  was  deceitful, 
vain,  lawless,  and  a  flirt. 

39 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

posed  not  only  indignation,  but  angry  words,  vio- 
lent retorts  and  sometimes  even  insulting  epithets ; 
or  else  she  protested  in  innumerable  letters  and 
notes,  rendered  eloquent  by  their  sincerity.  She 
complained  that  she  was  "attacked  without  the 
means  of  defense,  soiled  without  opportunity  of 
cleansing  herself,  wounded  without  chance  of 
healing" ;  she  affirmed  her  intention  of  putting  an 
end  to  the  situation  by  suicide  or  final  rupture. 
Generally  Victor  Hugo  arrived  in  time  to  calm 
her  frenzy  with  a  caress  or  a  soothing  word,  and 
then  Juliette  would  try  to  resign  herself  and  let 
hope  spring  uppermost  once  more.  But  Victor 
Hugo,  under  the  influence  of  some  new  tittle- 
tattle,  resumed  his  grand-inquisitorial  manner 
and  the  tone,  words,  reproaches  and  even  threats 
appertaining  to  the  part.  The  creditors  con- 
tinued to  harry  her  without  intermission,  so  in 
the  end  the  lovers  passed  from  words  to  actions. 

As  we  have  stated  above,  Juliette's  furniture 
had  been  seized  and  she  was  about  to  be  turned 
out  of  her  apartment  in  the  Rue  de  1'Echiquier. 
She  had  endeavored  vainly  to  interest  her  friends 
past  and  present  in  her  difficulties.  Even  Victor 
Hugo,  disheartened  probably  by  the  difficulties 
of  the  task,  had  returned  a  refusal.  The  lovers 
therefore  exchanged  farewells  which  they 

40 


To  Victor  Hugo 

thought  final,  and  on  the  3d  of  August,  Juliette 
started  for  St.  Renan  near  Brest,  where  her  sister, 
Madame  Kock,  was  living.  Happily  she  traveled 
by  the  Rennes  diligence  and  there  were  many  halts 
on  the  way.  From  the  very  first  of  these  she  sent 
an  adoring  letter  to  the  poet.  She  wrote  again 
from  Rennes,  from  Brest  once  more,  and  lastly 
from  St.  Renan.  Victor  Hugo  responded  with 
expressions  of  poignant  regret  and  remorse,  ac- 
cording to  those  who  have  read  them.  He  prom- 
ised to  do  his  very  best  to  find  the  few  necessary 
bank  notes  to  satisfy  the  biggest  creditors.  In  the 
end  he  set  out  for  Rennes  himself  and  rejoined  his 
friend.  The  lovers  returned  to  Paris  on  the  loth 
of  August. 

Now  commences  the  most  singular  period  of  the 
life  of  Juliette,  one  which  has  been  well  entitled 
an  "amorous  redemption  after  the  romantic 
manner."12  For  nearly  two  years,  Victor  Hugo, 
taking  his  mistress  as  the  subject  of  his  experi- 
ment, put  into  practice  the  theories,  in  part 
religious  and  in  part  philosophical,  which  he  pro- 
fessed concerning  courtesans :  namely,  the  expia- 
tion of  faults  by  faithful,  passionate,  disinterested 
love;  love  itself  being  considered  as  a  species  of 

12  V.  H.  Fleischmann,  Une  Maitresse  de  Victor  Hugo,  Chap. 
VII. 

41 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

sesame,  capable  of  opening  wide  the  doors  of 
science  and  throwing  light  upon  all  hidden  things. 

The  first  condition  of  redemption  was  poverty 
voluntarily,  almost  joyously  accepted.  The  fur- 
niture of  the  Rue  de  1'Echiquier  must  be  sold,  and 
the  beautiful  rooms  given  up.  A  tiny  apartment 
consisting  of  two  rooms  and  a  kitchen  was  taken 
for  Juliette  at  No.  4,  Rue  du  Paradis  au  Marais 
at  a  yearly  rental  of  four  hundred  francs.  There 
she  shivered  through  the  winter  and  spent  part  of 
her  days  in  bed  to  economize  her  fuel,  but  at  least 
she  proved  that  she  loved  truly  and  was  deserving 
of  love. 

No  more  dresses  or  jewels  .  .  .  every  evening 
Victor  Hugo  repeated  to  his  mistress  that  dress 
adds  nothing  to  the  charms  of  a  lovely  woman, 
that  it  is  waste  of  time  to  try  to  add  to  nature 
where  nature  herself  is  beautiful — and  proudly, 
as  if  indeed  she  were  clothed  in  the  hair  shirt  of 
her  former  mistresses  at  the  Convent,  Juliette 
wrote :  "My  poverty,  my  clumsy  shoes,  my  faded 
curtains,  my  metal  spoons,  the  absence  of  orna- 
ment, and  all  pleasure  apart  from  our  love  testify 
at  every  hour  and  every  minute  that  I  love  you 
with  all  my  heart." 

But  there  can  be  no  true  reformation  or  con- 
version without  work;  so  Juliette  must  work. 

42 


To  Victor  Hugo 

She  must  study  her  parts,  make  her  clothes  and 
even  some  of  Victor  Hugo's,  patch  others,  keep 
her  little  house  in  order,  and  spend  what  leisure 
she  can  snatch  in  copying  the  works  of  the  master, 
cutting  out  extracts  from  the  newspapers,  classi- 
fying and  collecting  his  manuscripts  and  proofs. 

When  he  had  completed  this  splendid  pro- 
gramme, of  which  almost  every  part  as  we  shall 
presently  see  was  carried  out  to  the  letter,  the 
poet  experienced  an  overpowering  need  to  find 
himself  alone  somewhere  with  the  woman  he  had 
finally  subjugated.  His  mind  was  still  quite  Vir- 
gilian.  He  had  not  yet  arrived  at  confusing  duty 
with  politics  and  happiness  with  popularity.  His 
greatest  enjoyment  next  to  love  was  in  rural  pur- 
suits, and  for  the  indulgence  of  these  he  flattered 
himself  he  had  discovered  in  Juliette  a  companion 
worthy  of  himself.  The  lovers  had  barely  set- 
tled in  the  Rue  du  Paradis  au  Marais  before  they 
went  off  to  the  Valley  of  Bievre.  Half  mystics, 
half  pagans,  worshiping  equally  at  the  shrines 
of  the  forest  divinities  and  those  of  the  village 
churches,  they  entered  upon  the  consummation 
of  what  they  themselves  called  their  "marriage 
of  escaped  birds." 


43 


CHAPTER  III 
"LA  TRISTESSE  D'OLYMPIO" 

IN  the  neighborhood  of  Paris,  about  four  miles 
from  Versailles,  nestles  a  valley,  which  the  mod- 
ern devotees  of  romance  should  deem  worthy  of 
a  visit.  Not  because  it  boasts  of  any  special 
features  such  as  mighty  torrents  thundering  from 
giddy  heights  into  abysmal  chasms  below — on 
the  contrary — its  character  is  harmonious  and 
serene ;  it  is  more  like  a  French  park  decked  with 
flowers  by  nature,  and  watered  by  chance.  But 
it  was  in  these  classic  surroundings  that  about 
the  year  1830,  circumstances  led  the  great  men 
of  the  new  school  to  seek  temporary  repose  for 
their  fretted  souls.  To  us,  these  peaceful  mead- 
ows, flanked  by  pensive  willows  weeping  on  the 
borders  of  the  silent  Bievre,  must  evermore  be 
peopled  by  those  troubled  shades :  by  Lammenais, 
the  priestly  keeper  of  consciences ;  Montalembert, 
the  angelic  doctor;  Ste.  Beuve,  the  purveyor  of 
ideas;  Berlioz,  the  musician,  and  lastly  by  the 
poet,  Victor  Hugo,  who  followed  meekly  in  the 

44 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

rear,  while  awaiting  the  glory  of  conducting  the 
procession. 

They  used  to  arrive  in  the  summer,  some  for  a 
couple  of  days,  others  for  weeks  together,  to  stay 
with  Monsieur  Bertin,  editor  of  the  Journal  des 
Debats  and  owner  of  Les  Roches,1  a  property 
situated  midway  between  the  villages  of  Bievre 
and  Jouy-en-Josas.  Genial  and  lively,  as  Ingres 
represents  him  in  his  celebrated  portrait,  Mon- 
sieur Bertin  loved  to  divine,  promote,  and  where 
needful  encourage,  their  vocations  and  plans. 
His  housekeeping  was  on  a  modest  scale,  but 
his  hospitality  delightful — a  mixture  of  go-as- 
you-please  and  kindly  despotism ;  perfect  freedom 
outwardly,  but  in  reality,  careful  ministrations 
skillfully  disguised.  Louise  Bertin,  the  eldest 
daughter  of  the  old  man  and  one  of  the  muses  of 
the  period,  willingly  divided  her  time  between  the 
kitchen  and  the  drawing-room,  cookery-books  and 
poems.  As  an  ardent  musician  tolerably  familiar 
with  the  best  literature,  her  mind  was  full  of 
quaintness,  while  her  heart  was  instinct  with 
kindliness.  When  perchance,  she  had  surfeited 
her  guests  with  sonatas  and  song,  she  would  be 
seized  with  fear  lest  she  should  be  interfering 

1  Nothing  remains  of  it  now,  save  the  name  and  the  site.    All 
the  rest,  park,  garden,  and  dwelling,  has  been  completely  altered, 

45 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

with  their  habits  or  inclinations,  and,  would 
hastily  substitute  anarchy  by  commanding  each 
one  to  choose  his  own  occupation,  and  pursue  his 
meditation,  walk,  or  game,  unhindered. 

Of  them  all,  Victor  Hugo  seems  to  have  been 
the  girl's  favorite  and  the  one  who  made  the 
largest  use  of  this  generous  welcome  and  charm- 
ing liberty.  As  soon  as  the  periwinkles  blos- 
somed, he  settled  his  wife  and  children  at  Les 
Roches,  while  he  himself  came  and  went  between 
Paris  and  Bievre.  Gradually  he  grew  to  asso- 
ciate the  valley  with  his  joys  and  sorrows ;  it  be- 
came one  of  those  familiar  haunts  to  which  one 
instinctively  turns  with  the  comforting  assurance 
of  finding  there  the  outward  conditions  suitable 
to  one's  moods.  As  a  young  father,  he  made  it 
the  fitting  frame  for  family  joys;  when  his  love 
was  flung  back  in  his  face  and  his  friendship 
betrayed,  he  returned  to  seek,  if  not  consolation, 
at  least  faith  and  hope  for  the  future.  A  year 
later,  again  under  the  shelter  of  Les  Roches,  he 
thought  he  had  found  solace.  The  valley  meant 
something  more  than  an  invitation  to  dawdle,  it 
filled  him  with  sensuous  suggestion:  he  longed 
to  place  his  ideal  of  an  unquenchable  love  at  the 
feet  of  a  woman,  and  to  pronounce  the  word  "for- 
ever." 

46 


To  Victor  Hugo 

With  the  connivance  of  Madame  Victor  Hugo, 
who  shut  her  eyes,  and  that  of  Mademoiselle 
Louise  Bertin,  who  smiled  her  toleration,2  this 
happiness  came  to  him  at  length;  not  indeed  in 
the  first  year  of  his  passion  for  Juliette,  but  in 
the  early  part  of  the  second.  He  brought  his 
mistress  to  Bievre  and  to  Jouy  on  the  4th  of  July, 
1834,  a  little  before  the  tragic  crisis  that  so  nearly 
separated  the  lovers,  as  we  have  related  in  the 
foregoing  chapter. 

Juliette  immediately  fell  in  love  with  the  scenes 
the  poet  had  so  often  and  so  eloquently  described 
to  her.  Of  their  joint  visit  to  the  Ecu  de  France, 
the  little  inn  at  Jouy-en-Josas,3  she  drew  up,  in 
fun,  one  of  those  mock  official  reports  in  which 
she  excelled.4  They  decided  to  return  and  lunch, 
no  matter  where,  or  how,  provided  it  was  neither 
too  near  nor  too  far  from  Les  Roches.  Then 
they  set  out  in  quest  of  rooms,  which  they  eventu- 
ally found  in  the  hamlet  of  Metz,  on  the  summit 
of  the  hill  above  Jouy  on  the  northern  side.  They 

2  In   1877,   Madame   Drouet,   although   seventy-one  years   old, 
insisted  upon  attending  the  funeral  of  Mile.  Louise  Bertin.     "I 
wish,"  she  wrote  to  Victor  Hugo,  "to   show  in  this   way  that 
I  have  not  forgotten  the  marks  of  sympathy  she  gave  you  on 
my  account  in  the  early  days  of  our  love."    Letter  of  the  28th 
of  April,  1877. 

3  This  inn  still  exists  and  is  not  changed  in  any  way.    It  is 
exceedingly  modest. 

4  See  later,  among  the  letters,  that  of  July  4th,  1834. 

47 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

returned  to  Paris  after  paying  over  to  the  pro- 
prietor, Sieur  Labussiere,  the  sum  of  ninety-two 
francs  for  a  year's  rent.  Thither  they  came  in 
September  for  a  sojourn  of  six  weeks,  after  the 
troubled  interval  described  above. 

The  little  house  does  not  seem  to  have  been 
altered  at  all.5  It  was  originally  built  for  the 
game-keeper  of  the  neighboring  chateau,  which 
belonged  to  Cambaceres.  It  still  spreads  its 
white  frontage  pierced  with  green-shuttered  win- 
dows against  the  background  of  woods.  It  con- 
sists only  of  a  ground-floor  and  an  attic ;  a  ram- 
bling vine  covers  its  walls ;  around  it  are  scattered 
a  barn,  some  outhouses  and  an  orchard,  whose 
steep  sides  slope  downwards  to  a  gate  opening  on 
to  the  Jouy  road. 

With  the  assistance  of  the  landlady,  Mere 
Labussiere,  as  she  calls  her,  Juliette  undertook  to 
perform  the  lighter  tasks  of  housekeeping  in  the 
mornings,  and  it  was  understood  that  Victor 
Hugo  should  visit  her  every  afternoon  unless 
some  grave  impediment  prevented  him. 

5  It  belongs  now  to  Madame  Veuve  Bigot.  On  the  left  ex- 
terior wall  a  Versailles  society  has  thought  fit  to  place  an 
inscription  recording  that  Victor  Hugo  once  inhabited  the  house. 
Four  lines  of  La  Tristesse  d'Olympio  follow.  It  would  have 
been  more  correct  to  bracket  the  name  of  Juliette  Drouet  with 
that  of  the  poet,  for  after  all  it  was  not  he  who  lived  there, 
but  she. 

48 


To  Victor  Hugo 

But  the  walk  from  Les  Roches  to  Les  Metz 
was  long:  not  much  under  two  miles,  by  rough 
roads.  The  lovers  agreed  therefore  to  meet  half- 
way by  a  path  settled  beforehand  and  to  abandon 
the  Labussiere  rooftree  for  some  leafy  bower. 
Thus  began,  as  Juliette  writes,  their  "bird  life  in 
the  woods." 

Victor  Hugo  had  a  choice  of  three  ways  when 
he  went  to  meet  his  lady.  One  led  across  the 
valley  of  the  Bievre;  another,  along  the  pave- 
ment,6 as  the  high  road  from  Bievre  to  Ver- 
sailles was  called ;  and  lastly  there  was  the  wood- 
land path,  which  they  both  preferred.  Victor 
Hugo  started  by  the  Vauboyau  road,  plunged  into 
the  woods  skirting  the  boundary  of  the  Chateau 
of  Les  Roches ;  then,  turning  to  the  left,  walked 
straight  on  as  far  as  the  four  cross  roads  at 
I'Homme  Mort,  and  bore  to  the  right  towards  the 
Cour  Roland.  There,  in  the  hollow  of  a  hun- 
dred-year-old chestnut  tree  all  bent  and  twisted, 
his  lady-love  would  be  awaiting  him. 

Clad  in  a  dress  of  white  jaconet  striped  with 
pink,  such  as  she  usually  affected,  her  head  cov- 
ered with  an  Italian  straw  hat,  left  over  from 

6  Here  occurs  the  only  discrepancy  between  La  Tristesse 
d'Olympio  and  the  letters  of  Juliette.  Victor  Hugo  writes  in 
1837 :  "They  have  paved  this  rough,  badly-laid  road" ;  whereas 
Juliette  as  early  as  1835  calls  it  the  pavement. 

49 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  days  of  her  former  grandeur,  with  swelling 
bosom,  rosy  cheeks,  and  smiling  mouth,  she  re- 
sembled a  flower  springing  from  the  rude  calyx 
formed  by  the  aged  tree.  A  wide-awrake  flower 
indeed,  for,  from  the  first  sign  of  the  approach 
of  Victor  Hugo,  she  would  fly  to  him  and  afford 
him  one  more  opportunity  of  admiring  the  far- 
famed  aerial  gait,  that  fairy  foot-step,  so  light 
that  it  had  been  compared  to  the  sound  of  a  lyre. 

Then  followed  kisses,  caresses,  a  flood  of  soft 
words,  more  kisses,  and  a  rapid  rush  into  the 
cool  green  depths  whither  the  twitter  of  birds 
invited  them.  When  they  issued  forth  again, 
silent  now,  Juliette  walked  first,  making  it  a  point 
of  honor  to  push  aside  the  branches  and  thorns 
before  her  poet ;  and  he  was  content,  gazing  upon 
the  tiny  traces  left  upon  the  moss  or  sand  by  the 
feet  that  looked  almost  absurd  by  reason  of  their 
minuteness. 

At  the  far  end  of  a  clearing  a  fountain  burbled. 
Juliette  made  a  hollow  of  her  little  hands  and 
collected  a  delicious  draught  for  their  burning 
lips.  Drops  dribbled  from  between  her  fingers, 
and  seeing  them,  her  lover  knew  that  here  was  a 
fairy  able  to  transmute  water  into  diamonds.7 

We  must  not  imagine,  however,  that  the  treas- 

7  La  Tristesse  d'Olympio. 

50 


To  Victor  Hugo 

tire  of  their  love  expended  itself  entirely  in  this 
sportive  fashion.  If  it  be  true  that  passion  is 
the  stronger  for  an  admixture  of  intellect,  it  fol- 
lows that  only  persons  of  distinguished  parts  are 
capable  of  extracting  the  full  measure  of  delight 
from  sentimental  intercourse.  Victor  Hugo  was 
far  too  wise  to  neglect  the  training  of  the  sen- 
sibilities of  his  young  mistress.  Like  some  block 
of  rare  marble,  she  submitted  herself  to  this  able 
sculptor  in  the  charming  simplicity  of  a  nature 
somewhat  uncultivated  and  rugged,  as  she  her- 
self says,  and  he  perceived  in  the  formless  ma- 
terial the  growing  suggestion  of  the  finished 
statue  he  was  soon  to  evolve.  The  forest  was  the 
studio  whither  he  came  every  afternoon  to  culti- 
vate through  novel  sensations  and  delights,  his 
own  poetry  and  eloquence.  The  forest  gave  him 
back  color  for  color,  music  for  music.  .  .  . 

At  other  times,  Victor  Hugo  encouraged  in 
Juliette  an  inclination  for  prayer  and  tearful  re- 
pentance. He  retained  and  she  had  always  pos- 
sessed strong  Catholic  sensibilities.  The  mere 
satisfaction  of  sensuality  without  the  hallowing 
influence  of  absorbing  love  meant  defilement, 
from  their  point  of  view.  Hence  followed  pajp- 
ful  remorse  for  a  past  which  the  lover  liked  to 
hear  his  mistress  bewail,  and  which  she  despaired 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

of  ever  redeeming.  Her  role  was  the  abasement 
of  Magdalen,  his,  the  somewhat  forced  attitude 
of  an  apostle  or  savior. 

Nothing  could  be  more  peaceful  or  uneventful 
than  Juliette's  evenings.  She  devoured  with  the 
appetite  of  an  ogress  the  frugal  supper  put  before 
her  by  Madame  Labussiere,  repaired  the  damage 
done  to  her  clothes  by  the  afternoon's  ramble,  or 
studied  some  of  the  parts  in  which  she  hoped  to 
appear  sooner  or  later  at  the  Theatre  Frangais. 
At  ten  o'clock  she  went  to  bed.  This  was  the 
much-prized  moment  of  her  solitude,  when  she 
retired,  as  she  says,  into  the  happy  background 
of  her  heart  to  rehearse  in  spirit  the  simple  events 
and  delights  of  the  day,  to  recall  the  face  of  her 
lover,  see  him,  speak  to  him,  and  hang  upon  his 
answers:  then,  as  drowsiness  gradually  gained 
the  upper  hand  and  clouds  dimmed  the  dear  out- 
line, to  surrender  to  slumber.  It  was  at  Les  Metz 
that  she  coined  the  happy  phrase :  "I  go  to  sleep  in 
the  thought  of  you."  Sometimes  the  wind  moan- 
ing in  the  heights  awoke  her,  and  she  resumed  her 
sweet  musing.  The  poet  was  in  the  habit  of 
working  at  night;  she  would  picture  him  in  his 
room  at  Les  Roches  bending  over  his  writing- 
table.  Then  she  "blessed  the  gale  that  made  her 


To  Victor  Hugo 

the  companion  of  the  dear  little  workman's  vigil 
across  the  intervening  space." 

As  soon  as  dawn  broke,  she  was  up  again ;  she 
jumped  out  of  bed,  ran  to  the  window,  opened  the 
shutters  and  interrogated  the  heavens — not  that 
she  feared  rain,  any  more  than  she  minded  "blis- 
ters on  her  feet  or  scratches  on  her  hands" — but 
she  had  only  two  dresses,  a  woolen  and  a  linen, 
and  the  condition  of  the  weather  controlled  her 
choice  of  the  two.  Her  toilet  was  rapid,  her 
breakfast  simple.  She  spent  the  remaining  time 
copying  the  manuscripts  confided  to  her  by  Victor 
Hugo.  Then  lightly  running,  as  she  says,  like 
a  hare  across  the  plain,  she  started  for  the  ren- 
dezvous. As  becomes  a  loving  woman,  she  was 
always  first  at  the  trysting-tree.  She  scrutinized 
the  intertwined  initials  she  herself  had  carved 
upon  its  bark,  or  conned  again  from  memory  the 
verses  she  had  found  the  day  before  in  its  hollow 
trunk.  She  "sings  them  in  her  heart,"  presses 
them  to  her  bosom,  and  kisses  the  letters  she  has 
brought  in  answer. 

For  the  chestnut  tree  served  them  as  a  letter- 
box as  well  as  a  shelter.  According  to  an  ar- 
rangement between  them,  the  first  thing  they  did 
on  arrival  was  to  deposit  within  its  friendly  shade 

53 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

everything  they  had  written  in  the  course  of  the 
preceding  day  for,  or  about,  one  another.  On 
Juliette's  part  especially,  the  letters  became  more 
and  more  numerous :  two,  four,  sometimes  six  per 
day.  She  no  longer  wrote  as  at  first,  to  expatiate 
upon  her  passion  or  assure  the  poet  that  she  loved 
him  with  real  love,  or  to  relieve  boredom  and 
make  the  hours  of  her  solitude  pass  more  quickly. 
She  wrote  because  Victor  Hugo,  who  had  for- 
merly been  indifferent  to  her  "scribbles,"  now 
exacted  them  as  a  daily  tribute  and  reproached 
her  if  they  were  too  brief  or  not  numerous 
enough.  This  jealous  lover  had  discovered  the 
advantages  of  a  pretty  woman's  mania  for  writ- 
ing. When  thus  occupied,  he  reflected,  she  is 
contented.  He  also  found  that  her  letters  were 
full  of  enthusiasm,  humor,  feeling,  fun,  and 
poetry,  and  he  therefore  desired  that  they  should 
be  preserved.  One  day,  when  Juliette  had 
thrown  a  packet  of  them  into  the  fire,  in  a  fit  of 
temper  he  made  her  write  them  all  over  again. 
Juliette  might  protest  prettily,  entrench  herself 
behind  her  ignorance,  and  allege  her  want  of  in- 
telligence ;  but  the  more  she  pleaded  that  she  knew 
not  how  to  write,  the  more  her  lover  insisted  upon 
her  doing  so.  No  one  has  ever  carried  to  greater 
lengths  that  form  of  affectation  which  consists  in 

54 


To  Victor  Hugo 

vilifying  oneself  in  order  to  gain  praise.  Having 
thus  placed  herself,  as  far  as  her  style  is  con- 
cerned, in  the  kneeling  position  she  prefers, 
Juliette  remains  there.  It  is  at  Les  Metz  that 
her  letters  commenced  to  be  a  hymn  of  praise  in 
honor  of  her  divinity.  Adoration  and  excessive 
adulation  are  their  basis;  for  form  and  imagery, 
Juliette  does  not  hesitate  to  borrow  from  the 
sacred  writings  she  had  studied  at  the  Convent  of 
Petit-Picpus.  Sooth  to  say,  this  mixture  of  re- 
ligiosity and  passion  presents  an  aspect  both  dis- 
proportionate and  pathetic.  When  love  raises  it- 
self— or  degrades  itself — to  this  almost  mystical 
adoration,  one  cannot  be  surprised  if  it  ends  by 
believing  in  its  own  virtue.  Having  adopted  the 
forms  of  religion  it  insensibly  acquires  its  im- 
portance and  dignity ;  it  ennobles  itself. 

We  do  not  possess  Victor  Hugo's  answers,  but 
partly  from  the  note-books  in  which  his  lady-love 
punctiliously  copied  and  dated  the  poems  ad- 
dressed to  her,  and  partly  from  the  dates  in- 
scribed at  the  bottom  of  each  page  in  the  collected 
works  of  the  poet,  we  know  which  of  his  verses 
were  composed  during  his  sojourn  at  Les  Metz. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  author  of 
Feuilles  d'Automne  was  never  more  happily  in- 
spired. Nowhere  did  he  more  closely  approach 

55 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  classical  model  he  had  chosen  at  that  time, 
the  gentle  Virgil. 

The  lovers  returned  to  Les  Metz  twice,  once  in 
October,  1837,  for  a  few  days,  and  again,  for  a 
day,  on  September  26th,  1845.  I*1  l&37>  it  was 
Victor  Hugo  who  directed  the  expedition  and  took 
the  lead.  He  sought  one  by  one  the  traces  of 
their  amours;  his  eccentric  genius  admired  na- 
ture's grand  indifference,  which  had  failed  to  pre- 
serve them  intact  for  his  honor  and  pleasure,  and, 
deploring  this  ingratitude  concerning  outward 
things,  he  composed  that  masterpiece  La  Tristesse 
d' Olympic.  He  laid  it  at  the  feet  of  Juliette,  who 
accepted  it,  read  and  re-read  it,  and  learnt  it  by 
heart,  without  criticising  it. 

In  1845,  the  pilgrimage  was  hers;  she  planned 
it  and  begged  for  it,  writing  on  the  iQth  of 
August :  "I  have  an  inexpressible  longing  to  see 
Les  Metz  again.  We  absolutely  must  go  there." 

They  did.  Early  in  the  month  of  September 
Juliette  arranged  the  little  journey.  Which  dress' 
should  she  wear?  The  striped  organdy  one,  or 
the  blue  tarlatan  shot  with  white  that  she  wore  a 
few  months  previously  at  the  reception  of  St. 
Marc  Girardin  at  the  Academic  Frangaise  ?  She 

8  See  also  later,   in  the  collection  of  letters,  the  one  written 
under  date  of  January  25th,  1844. 

56 


To  Victor  Hugo 

chose  the  former  because  her  lover  preferred  it; 
the  same  reason  determined  her  to  wear  a  straw 
hat  "trimmed  with  geraniums  above  and  below 
the  brim."  Thus  decked,  with  cheeks  rosier  than 
usual,  and  eyes  glowing,  Juliette  climbed  with  her 
poet  into  the  omnibus  from  Paris  to  Sceaux. 

Victor  Hugo  disliked  omnibuses,  and  especially 
that  one.  He  remembered  his  many  drives  in  it 
with  his  friend  Ste.  Beuve,  at  the  time  the  latter 
was  most  assiduous  in  his  visits  to  Les  Roches, 
and  in  spite  of  himself  he  seemed  to  see  the  ghost 
of  Joseph  Delorme  in  the  back  seat,  with  his  eccle- 
siastical appearance  and  his  mania  for  nestling 
cosily  between  two  fat  people.  Silently  the  poet 
dwelt  upon  these  memories,  while  Juliette  volubly 
recalled  others.  She  wondered  whether  they 
would  find  the  beggar  at  the  foot  of  the  Bievres 
hill,  into  whose  hands  she  used  to  empty  her  purse 
in  order  that  alms  should  bring  them  luck,  and 
whether  the  baker  in  the  Square  still  made  those 
little  tarts  her  lover  used  to  be  so  fond  of.  At 
last  the  omnibus  deposited  them  at  Bievres  in 
front  of  the  Chariot  d'Or.  The  striped  organdy 
dress  created  a  great  sensation  among  the  village 
children.  Juliette  rushed  off  to  the  little  church  ; 
nothing  was  changed — the  same  simplicity,  the 
same  silence,  the  same  brooding  peace  as  in  the 

57 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

old  days.  The  young  woman  fell  on  her  knees ; 
then  together  the  lovers  returned  to  the  Chariot 
d'Or,  breakfasted  and  started  to  walk  to  Les 
Roches.  There  again,  in  Juliette's  opinion, 
everything  was  unchanged.  To  the  left,  behind 
tall  grasses,  the  river  flowed  unseen  and  unheard. 
In  deference  to  the  needs  of  man  and  those  of  the 
valley,  its  course  had  been  diverted  and  it  now 
spread  itself  through  meadows  and  orchards.  Its 
presence  could  be  divined  from  the  abundance  of 
flowers  and  reeds  born  of  its  moisture.  When 
they  reached  Les  Roches,  Juliette  insisted  upon 
abandoning  the  valley  for  the  forest.  They  as- 
cended through  Vauboyau  to  the  wood  of 
I'Homme  Mart.  She  walked  straight  to  a  chest- 
nut tree  which  she  said  she  recognized;  then  she 
found  a  mountain  ash  upon  whose  bark  she  had 
once  carved  their  interlaced  initials;  after  that 
the  spring,  and  the  paths.  She  wished  to  revisit 
what  she  called  "the  chapels  of  their  love,"  to 
pay  at  each  one  a  tribute  of  devotion.9 

At  length  they  reached  Les  Metz  and  the  house 
of  the  Labussiere.  Delirious  enchantment! 
Everything  was  just  as  she  remembered  it:  the 
gate,  the  bell,  the  kitchen-garden,  the  mile-stone 
upon  which  she  used  to  sit  to  watch  for  her  lover 

9  27th  of  September,  1845. 

58 


To  Victor  Hugo 

when  the  rendezvous  was  at  the  cottage ;  the  bed 
with  its  curtains  of  printed  cotton,  the  rustic 
wardrobe,  the  oak  table.  .  .  .  "Heaven,"  she 
cried,  "has  put  a  seal  upon  all  the  treasures  of 
love  we  buried  here !  It  has  preserved  them  for 
us,"  and  she  longed  to  take  possession  of  them  all 
and  carry  them  away  with  her.10 

How  charming  Juliette  is  at  this  moment,  and 
how  superior  to  Olympio!  How  preferable  is  her 
enthusiasm,  with  its  power  of  bringing  back  to 
life  the  dead  past,  to  the  melancholy  which  dis- 
parages and  kills!  One  sole  interest  animates 
her.  Her  instinct  is  creative,  for  where  the  poet 
sees  death  she  perceives  life.  The  roses  he 
thought  faded  and  scattered  she  admires  in  full 
bloom,  and  can  still  breathe  their  perfume.  From 
the  dust  and  ashes  he  has  tasted  and  mourned, 
she  draws  the  savor  of  honey.  In  this  instance 
surely  her  love  does  not  merely  aspire  to  sit  on 
the  heights  with  the  poet's  genius,  as  she  claimed 
— it  soars  far  beyond  it. 

102Qth  of  September,  1845:  "I  wish  I  had  the  money  to  buy 
it  all  before  it  is  desecrated."  Victor  Hugo  understood  her 
feeling,  and  a  generous  impulse  led  him  to  propose  to  buy  the 
house.  The  price  asked  was  six  thousand  francs.  Very  deli- 
cately Juliette  refused.  7th  of  October,  1845. 


59 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   SHACKLES   OF    LOVE 

VICTOR  HUGO  never  succeeded  in  making 
Juliette  adopt  his  conception  of  love.  He  craved 
something  calm,  placid,  regular  as  a  time-table 
in  its  manifestations ;  but  she  was  wont  to  object : 
"Such  a  love  would  soon  cease  to  exist.  A  fire 
that  no  longer  blazes  is  quickly  smothered  in 
ashes.  Only  a  love  that  scorches  and  dazzles  is 
worthy  of  the  name.  Mine  is  like  that." 

And  indeed  it  would  not  be  easy  to  name  an 
object  that  this  woman  did  not  cast  into  the  cru- 
cible of  her  passion  between  the  years  1834  and 
1851.  Everything  was  sacrificed,  comfort,  van- 
ity, renown,  talent,  liberty.  Then  she  turned  to 
her  poet.  She  adopted  his  tastes,  his  ambitions, 
his  dreams  for  the  future;  she  shared  his  joys 
and  sorrows;  she  exaggerated  his  qualities,  and 
sometimes  even  his  faults.  She  lived  only  in  him 
and  for  him. 

We  are  about  to  witness  a  completeness  of  self- 
abnegation  that  raises  Juliette  Drouet  almost  to 

60 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  level  of  the  mystics  of  old  ;  afterwards  we  shall 
scrutinize  one  by  one  the  details  of  the  cult  she 
rendered  to  Victor  Hugo. 

After  selling  the  bulk  of  her  furniture  and  quit- 
ting the  luxurious  apartment  she  occupied  at  35, 
Rue  de  1'Echiquier,  Juliette,  it  will  be  remembered, 
had  settled  down  in  a  tiny  lodging  costing  four 
hundred  francs  a  year,  at  4,  Rue  de  Paradis  au 
Marais.  She  and  Victor  Hugo  determined  to 
live  there  together,  poor  in  purse,  but  rich  in  love 
and  poetry.1  The  said  love  and  poetry  must  in- 
deed have  filled  their  horizon,  for  they  have  left 
no  account  whatsoever  of  that  first  nesting-place. 

On  the  8th  of  March,  1836,  Juliette  removed 
again  to  a  somewhat  more  commodious  apart- 
ment, 14,  Rue  St.  Anastase,  at  eight  hundred 
francs  a  year.  It  comprised  a  drawing-room, 
dining-room,  one  bedroom,  a  kitchen,  and  an  attic 
in  which  her  servant  slept.  This  district  has 
fallen  into  decay  and  is  now  dull  and  dreary.  In 
those  days  it  was  chiefly  occupied  by  the  Convent 
of  the  Hospitaliers  St.  Anastase,  whence  the 
street  took  its  name,  and  a  few  houses  more  or 
less  enclosed  by  gardens.  The  convent  and  gar- 
dens endowed  it  with  a  provincial  tranquillity 


61 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

and  an  impenetrable  silence  which  occasionally 
weighed  upon  Juliette's  spirits. 

Her  mode  of  life  was  not  calculated  to  enliven 
her.  A  degree  of  poverty  bordering  on  squalor 
simplified  its  details.  Little  or  no  fire — Juliette 
sometimes  even  lacked  the  logs  she  was  by  way 
of  providing  for  herself.  Then  she  spent  the 
morning  in  bed,  reading,  planning,  day-dreaming. 
She  kept  careful  accounts  of  her  receipts  and  ex- 
penditure, accounts  which  Victor  Hugo  after- 
wards audited  most  minutely.  When  she  rose, 
the  cold  did  not  prevent  her  from  writing  cheer- 
fully, "If  you  seek  warmth  in  this  room  you  will 
have  to  seek  it  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

All  luxuries  in  the  way  of  food  were  reserved, 
as  in  duty  bound,  for  the  suppers  the  master  hon- 
ored with  his  presence  after  the  theater.  The 
rest  of  the  time  Juliette  ate  frugally,  breakfasting 
on  eggs  and  milk,  dining  on  bread  and  cheese  and 
an  apple.  When  her  daughter  visited  her  she 
treated  her  to  an  orange  cut  into  slices  and  sprin- 
kled with  a  pennyworth  of  sugar  and  a  penny- 
worth of  brandy.  The  same  simplicity  reigned 
on  high  days  and  holidays. 

Juliette  also  denied  herself  useless  fripperies 
and  reduced  to  the  strictest  limits  the  expenses  of 
her  wardrobe.  Everything  she  was  able  to  make 

62 


To  Victor  Hugo 

or  mend,  she  made  and  mended,  and  it  gratified 
her  to  compute  the  money  she  saved  thus  in  dress- 
makers. The  rest  she  bought  very  cheaply  or  did 
without.  In  the  month  of  August,  1838,  when 
she  was  about  to  start  on  a  journey  with  Victor 
Hugo,  she  found  herself  in  need  of  shoes,  a  dress 
and  a  country  hat.  She  bought  the  shoes,  manu- 
factured the  dress,  and  had  intended  to  borrow 
the  hat  from  Madame  Kraft,  but  this  lady,  who 
held  some  minor  post  at  the  Comedie  Franchise, 
only  wore  feathered  hats.  Juliette,  once  so  prod- 
igal, now  had  to  curse  the  extravagance  that 
placed  her  in  an  awkward  predicament.  A  little 
later,  on  the  7th  of  May,  1839,  she  wanted  to  fur- 
bish up  her  mantle  with  ribbon  velvet  at  five- 
pence  a  yard ;  but  she  found  that  she  could  not  do 
with  less  than  eight  yards  and  a  half.  Bemoan- 
ing her  extravagance,  she  said,  "Why,  oh,  why 
have  I  let  myself  in  for  this !" 

In  studying  Juliette's  financial  position  one 
wonders  that  so  much  privation  should  be  neces- 
sary, for  from  the  very  beginning  Victor  Hugo 
allowed  her  six  or  seven  hundred  francs  a  month. 
He  afterwards  increased  this  sum  to  eight  hun- 
dred and  finally  in  1838,  when  he  began  to  get 
better  terms  from  publishers  and  theater  man- 
agers, to  a  thousand  francs.  Surely  such  a  sum 

63 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

should  provide  ordinary  comforts — there  should 
be  no  suggestion  of  squalid  poverty. 

The  fact  is  that  in  1834,  Victor  Hugo  had  only 
paid  off  the  most  pressing  of  Juliette's  debts. 
But  the  result  of  his  doing  so  was  to  rouse  the 
energies  of  the  rest  of  the  creditors,  and  Juliette 
was  overwhelmed  by  them.  Sometimes  she  man- 
aged to  pacify  them  by  quaint  expedients.  For 
instance,  to  Zoe,  her  former  maid,  she  offered  in 
place  of  wages  a  box  for  Angela;  to  Monsieur 
Maniere,  her  legal  adviser,  she  promised  that  if 
he  would  extend  her  credit,  "Monsieur  Victor 
Hugo  should  read  with  interest"  a  certain  plan  of 
political  organization  of  which  the  said  Maniere 
was  the  author,  but  which,  alas,  does  not  yet 
figure  in  the  archives  of  the  French  constitution ! 
But  more  often  she  was  forced  to  pay,  and  she 
had  to  save  on  food  or  dress.  Then  it  was  that 
money  was  skimped  from  the  butcher  and  grocer 
to  satisfy  the  former  milliner  or  livery  stable 
keeper.  In  the  month  of  May,  1835,  out  of  seven 
hundred  francs  received,  the  creditors  obtained 
three  hundred  and  sixteen ;  in  June  they  got  an- 
other three  hundred  and  forty-seven ;  in  July  two 
hundred  and  seventy-eight. 

Another  cause  for  pecuniary  embarrassment 
was  the  irregularity  of  Pradier's  contribution  to 

64 


To  Victor  Hugo 

the  maintenance  of  his  and  Juliette's  child.  Very 
often,  but  for  Victor  Hugo's  assistance,  this  item 
would  have  been  added  to  the  sum  total  of  her 
debts.  But  Juliette  bore  everything  with  the 
blitheness  of  a  bird.  She  who  had  hated  accounts 
and  arithmetic,  now  devoted  her  attention  to  them 
every  day,  sometimes  more  than  once  a  day;  she 
who  loathed  poverty  encountered  the  most  sordid 
privations  with  a  smile ;  she  who  once  throve  upon 
debts  and  promises  to  pay  now  exclaimed:  "I 
would  do  anything  rather  than  fall  into  debt. 
How  hideous  and  degrading  such  a  thing  is,  and 
how  splendid  and  noble  of  you,  my  adored  one,  to 
love  me  in  spite  of  my  past !"  2 

In  these  circumstances  it  is  not  surprising  that 
she  began  to  seek  in  work,  especially  theatrical 
work,  an  addition  to  her  private  resources.  She 
took  her  career  as  an  artist  very  seriously  and  it 
was  a  great  disappointment  to  her  that  her  lover 
failed  to  desire  her  as  an  interpreter  of  his  parts. 
He  certainly  did  not.  He  allowed  his  jealousy 
full  play  and  wished  to  keep  Juliette  for  himself 
alone.  His  tactics  seem  to  have  been  to  dangle 
promises  ever  before  her,  but  to  give  her  nothing 
— to  procure  dramatic  engagements  for  her  and 
prevent  her  from  fulfilling  them. 

2  December  15th,  1838. 

65 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

In  February,  1834,  he  introduced  Juliette  to  the 
Comedie  Franchise,  but  a  year  later  he  declined 
to  give  her  the  smallest  part  in  Angela,  which  was 
produced  there.  In  the  course  of  1836,  1837, 
1838,  he  allowed  Marie  Dorval  to  monopolize  all 
the  important  roles  in  his  former  plays  and  never 
once  attempted  to  put  Juliette's  name  at  the  head 
or  even  in  the  middle  of  the  bill.  Yet  he  gave  her 
fine  promises  in  plenty,  encouraged  her  to  learn 
long  passages  from  Marion  and  Dona  Sol  and 
vowed  he  would  some  day  write  a  play  for  her 
alone. 

Thus  kept  in  the  background,  Juliette  passed 
through  exhausting  alternations  of  despair  and 
confidence,  gratitude  and  jealousy.  For,  as  may 
easily  be  imagined,  she  was  terribly  jealous,  and 
her  suspicious  mind  exercised  itself  chiefly  con- 
cerning actresses,  whose  lively  manners  and  easy 
morals  she  knew  by  professional  experience. 
There  was  Mile.  Georges,  already  growing  stout, 
no  doubt,  but  ever  ready  to  raise  her  banner  and 
exercise  her  accustomed  sovereignty.  There  was 
Mile.  Mars,  who,  though  her  looks  were  a  thing 
of  the  past,  still  endeavored  to  attract  attention. 
Above  all,  there  was  Marie  Dorval. 

Ah,  how  Juliette  envied  Dorval!  How  she 
studied  her  in  order  to  arm  herself  against  her 

66 


To  Victor  Hugo 

fancied  rivalry!  How  often  she  took  her  moral 
measure !  She  knew  that  she  was  of  the  people, 
that  she  tingled  with  vitality  from  head  to  foot, 
that  though  her  primary  impulses  were  virtuous, 
nature  was  yet  strong  within  her.  .  .  .  She  was 
well  acquainted  with  "the  voice  that  quivered  with 
tears  and  made  its  insinuating  appeal  to  the 
heart."  3 

Could  Juliette  fail  to  dread  such  a  woman,  one 
so  versed  by  the  practice  of  her  profession  in  the 
wiles  that  attract  men  ?  Could  she  refrain  from 
warning  her  lover  against  her,  day  after  day,  like 
one  draws  attention  to  a  danger,  a  scourge,  or  a 
tempest  ?  Far  from  it — she  threatened  to  return 
to  the  theater,  to  act  in  her  lover's  plays,  to  be 
present  at  every  rehearsal,  to  vie  with  her  rival 
in  beauty  and  talent  and  ardor.  She  learned 
parts  and  whole  scenes  and  filled  her  solitude  with 
the  pleasing  phantoms  her  lover  had  once  created 
and  that  she  dreamed  of  restoring  to  life  on  the 
stage. 

Months  passed;  delicate  circumstances  obliged 
her  to  relinquish  her  plan  of  appearing  at  the 
Theatre  Franqais.4  She  was  on  the  verge  of  de- 
spair when  one  evening  in  the  spring  of  1838, 

3  Theophile  Gautier. 

*  In  1836,  Victor  Hugo  was  forced  to  take  legal  action  against 
the  Comedie  Frangaise.    He  won  his  case  the  following  year. 

67 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

her  lover  brought  her  a  new  play  he  wished  to 
read  to  her,  according  to  his  invariable  custom. 
It  was  Ruy  Bias.  She  at  once  claimed  the  part 
of  Marie  de  Neubourg  and  fell  in  love  with  the 
melancholy  little  queen  who  was  hampered  and 
hemmed  in  by  the  trammels  of  etiquette,  as  she 
herself  was  imprisoned  within  the  limits  of  her 
icy  apartment  in  the  Rue  St.  Anastase.  Victor 
Hugo  asked  nothing  better.  He  intended  Ruy 
Bias  for  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance,  which  was 
under  the  management  of  his  friend  Antenor 
Joly.  He  requested  the  worthy  fellow  to  engage 
Juliette  and  the  agreement  was  signed  early  in 
May. 

We  can  picture  the  delight  with  which  Juliette 
set  about  copying  the  play;  nevertheless  she  was 
assailed  by  melancholy  fears :  "I  shall  never  play 
the  queen,"  she  wrote,  "I  am  too  unlucky.  The 
thing  I  desire  most  on  earth  is  not  destined  to  be 
realized."  And  it  is  a  fact  that  the  part  was 
taken  from  her  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  given. 

After  1839  ner  longing  to  go  back  to  the  stage 
calmed  down  gradually.  At  the  end  of  that  year 
it  had  completely  faded.  Her  love's  tranquillity 
was  greatly  increased  thereby,  while  she  was 
driven  to  immerse  herself  still  more  completely 

68 


To  Victor  Hugo 

in  her  amorous  solitude  and  the  disadvantages 
pertaining  thereto. 

For  in  the  same  degree  that  he  deprecated  her 
being  seen  on  the  stage,  Victor  Hugo  detested  the 
thought  of  her  going  out  alone  and  he  had  man- 
aged to  extract  a  promise  from  her  that  she  would 
never  make  one  step  outside  the  house  without 
him.  She  was,  therefore,  practically  as  much  a 
prisoner  as  any  chatelaine  of  the  Middle  Ages  or 
heroine  of  some  of  the  somber  dramas  she  had 
formerly  played.  She  had  not  even  permission 
to  go  and  see  her  daughter  at  school  at  St.  Mande, 
and,  rather  than  trust  her  by  herself,  the  poet 
would  escort  her  to  the  dressmaker  and  milliner, 
or  on  her  visits  to  the  uncle  whose  name  she  bore 
and  who  lay  dying  at  the  Invalides,  to  the  money- 
lenders, the  curiosity-shop  and  even  the  iron- 
monger ! 

When  Victor  Hugo  thus  lent  himself  to  her 
needs,  all  went  well  and  Juliette,  proud  and  happy, 
arm  in  arm  with  her  "dear  little  man,"  chattered 
away  blithely.  But  a  time  came  when  the  lover, 
monopolized  by  other  cares,  perhaps  by  other  in- 
trigues, was  no  longer  so  assiduous.  Then  the 
mistress  protested  and  rebelled  with  the  fierce 
rage  of  a  noble  beast  of  the  forest,  that  bruises 

69 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

itself  against  the  bars  of  its  cage  in  its  agony  for 
freedom. 

Victor  Hugo  met  her  remonstrances  with 
gentle  reasoning  and  persuasive  exhortations. 
However  far  Juliette  went  in  her  transports  of 
anger,  he  was  always  able  to  pacify  her.  On  the 
27th  of  September,  1836,  at  the  end  of  a  long 
period  during  which  the  poet  had  not  been  able 
to  give  his  friend  even  what  she  called  the  "Joies 
du  preau,"  that  is  to  say,  a  walk  round  the  boule- 
vards, Juliette  threatened  to  break  out.  For  sev- 
eral weeks  she  had  been  attributing  the  sickness 
and  headaches  she  constantly  suffered  from  to  her 
sedentary  life.  Losing  all  patience  she  addressed 
an  ultimatum  to  him  proposing  an  assignation  in 
a  cab  on  the  Boulevard  du  Temple.  He  did  not 
appear.  For  three  hours  she  waited  inside  the 
vehicle,  then,  in  the  certainty  that  he  had  failed 
her,  she  wrote  a  letter  in  pencil,  dated  from  the 
cab,  No.  556,  stating  her  intention  to  fetch  her 
daughter  and  go  off  somewhere,  anywhere,  alone 
with  her.  "Thus,"  she  writes,  "  I  shall  free  my- 
self forever  from  a  slavery  which  satisfies  neither 
my  heart  nor  my  mind,  and  does  not  secure  the 
repose  of  either  of  us." 

However,  the  next  day  she  did  not  start.  She 
did  not  go  out  at  all.  She  had  resumed  her  chains 

70 


To  Victor  Hugo 

and  her  prison  garb.  Her  anger  always  evapo- 
rated thus  and  turned  to  melancholy  and  resigned 
gentleness.  In  the  end  she  came  to  feel  that  noth- 
ing existed  for  her,  save  a  lover  who  sometimes 
came  and  sometimes  stayed  away.  If  he  was 
present  she  was  alive,  if  absent,  her  mainspring 
was  broken. 

But  Victor  Hugo  continued  to  lead  an  ordinary 
life  while  his  mistress  spent  her  days  in  the  con- 
finement of  a  cloister.  It  was  probably  about  this 
time  that  Juliette  resolved  to  set  up  in  that  cloister 
an  altar  for  the  cult  of  her  lover.  Finding  her- 
self impotent  to  attract  and  keep  him  by  the  sole 
charm  of  passion,  she  endeavored  to  win  him  over 
by  devotion,  minute  attentions  and  tender  interest 
in  everything  he  undertook  and  by  unbridled 
adoration  of  his  person  and  work. 

According  to  Juliette,  who  secured  several 
stolen  meetings  in  the  poet's  own  house,5  Victor 
Hugo  suffered  from  a  complete  absence  of  the 
most  ordinary  comfort  at  home.  His  lamps 
smoked,  as  did  his  chimney  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  a  fire  was  lighted.  He  worked  in  a  "hor- 
rible little  ice  house"  with  insufficient  light,  and 

6  We  have  proofs  of  this  in  two  letters  from  Juliette  to  Victor 
Hugo. 

71 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

a  half  empty  inkstand.  His  bed  was  wretched, 
the  mattress  stuffed  with  what  he  termed  nail- 
heads.  When  he  dressed  he  found  his  shirts  but- 
tonless  and  his  coats  unbrushed.  As  for  his 
shoes,  Juliette  was  ashamed  of  their  condition. 
We  learn  from  Theophile  Gautier  that  the  author 
of  Hernani  was  a  hearty  eater  but  that  his  meals 
were  served  up  in  confusion;  cutlets  with  beans 
in  oil,  beef  and  tomato  sauce,  with  an  omelette, 
ham  with  coffee,  vinegar,  mustard  and  a  piece  of 
cheese.  He  made  short  work  of  this  extraordi- 
nary mixture,  and  no  doubt  was  often  reminded 
of  a  line  his  mistress  had  once  written  to  him  on 
the  subject :  "When  I  think  of  what  you  are  and 
what  you  do  and  of  the  discomfort  in  which  you 
live,  I  am  filled  with  admiring  pity." 

With  the  instinct  of  a  loving  woman  and  the 
resource  of  a  clever  one,  Juliette  was  quick  to  take 
advantage  of  the  human  side  of  her  god  and  to 
supply  him  with  the  personal  care  he  needed. 
She  trained  herself  to  be  a  cordon  bleu  and  a  sick 
nurse,  a  tailor,  and  a  cobbler.  If  Victor  Hugo 
went  to  the  theater,  he  found  on  his  return  to  the 
Rue  St.  Anastase,  a  dainty  repast  of  chicken, 
salad,  and  the  milky  puddings  he  liked,  and  all 
the  year  round  a  refreshing  dessert  of  grapes,  his 
favorite  fruit.  Juliette  served  him  "kneeling" — 

72 


To  Victor  Hugo 

so  at  least  she  affirms.  She  took  umbrage  if  he 
did  not  allow  her  to  select  for  him  the  biggest 
asparagus  and  the  thickest  cream.  He  was 
happy,  so  was  she.  If  he  had  an  attack  of  that 
"cursed  internal  inflammation  which  sometimes 
affected  his  head  and  sometimes  his  eyes,"  his  mis- 
tress would  prepare  liniments,  tisanes,  herb  soups, 
which  the  romanticist  meekly  swallowed.  She 
assumed  a  maternal  manner,  kissed  him,  coaxed 
him  with  soft  words,  tried  to  feed  him  with  her 
own  hands  and  regretted  that  she  could  not  give 
him  her  own  health  and  take  his  indisposition 
upon  herself.  If  he  complained  of  the  paucity 
and  untidiness  of  his  wardrobe,  Juliette  mended 
his  socks  and  linen,  ironed  his  white  waistcoats, 
removed  grease  stains  from  his  coat,  made  him  a 
smoking- jacket  out  of  an  old  theater  cloak,  and 
manufactured  "a  capital  greatcoat  lined  with  vel- 
vet, with  collar  and  cuffs  of  the  best  silk  velvet, 
out  of  another."  Thus  she  managed  by  degrees 
to  collect  nearly  all  the  poet's  clothes  in  her  own 
room ;  his  ordinary  suits  as  well  as  those  he  wore 
on  great  occasions  such  as  a  reception  at  the 
Academic,  or  a  sitting  of  the  House;  on  one 
occasion  she  writes,  in  gentle  self-mockery:  "I 
was  sorry  after  you  went  that  I  had  not  made 
you  put  on  your  cashmere  waistcoat  to-night;  it 
•  73 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

was  mended  and  quite  ready  for  you.  This 
morning  I  have  been  tidying  all  your  things. 
Your  coat  occupies  the  place  of  honor  in  my 
wardrobe ;  your  waistcoat  and  tie  hang  above  my 
mantel,  your  little  shoes  and  silk  socks  below.  In 
default  of  yourself  I  cling  to  your  duds,  look  after 
them  and  clean  them  with  delight." 

But  Juliette's  great  achievement,  her  triumph, 
was  to  create  in  her  tiny  apartment  the  right  at- 
mosphere for  her  poet  to  work  in.  His  custom 
was  to  collect  his  thoughts  during  the  day  and 
work  them  out  at  night.  Juliette  made  him  a 
cosy  corner  in  her  bedroom,  close  to  her  bed. 
She  fitted  it  up  with  a  table,  an  armchair,  a  lamp, 
and  an  ink-pot.  Above  the  chair  she  hung  por- 
traits of  his  children,  to  make  him  feel  at  home. 
On  the  table,  sheets  of  paper  and  freshly  cut  pens, 
attested  the  presence  and  care  of  a  devotee  of 
genius.  Whenever  he  came  in  the  evening  the 
poet  settled  down  in  what  he  himself  called  his 
workroom.  His  methodical  habits  and  strong 
will  enabled  him  to  abstract  himself  from  his  en- 
vironment and  devote  himself  strictly  to  his  la- 
bors as  an  author.  Besides,  he  was  under  the 
impression  that  Juliette  was  fast  asleep — but  in 
that,  he  did  her  less  than  justice.  Sleep  while  he 
worked !  Juliette  could  never  have  brought  her- 

74 


VICTOR  HUGO,   ABOUT   1836 
From  a  picture  by  Louis  Boulanger. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

self  to  do  so.  She  watched  him,  and  admired 
him.  Sometimes  she  seized  a  pencil  to  scribble 
on  any  scrap  of  paper  the  expression  of  her  ven- 
eration, and  when  the  poet  had  finished  he  would 
find  little  notes  such  as  the  following:  "I  love 
to  watch  even  your  shadow  on  the  page  while  you 
write."  6 

That  a  poet  should  allow  his  person  to  be  thus 
worshiped  is  nothing  new,  that  he  should  desire 
to  be  admired  in  his  works  is  still  more  natural. 
Juliette  guessed  this  and  acquired  the  habit  of 
applauding  the  slightest  achievement  of  the 
master  with  loving  enthusiasm.  Part  of  the  day 
she  spent  in  copying  his  manuscripts,  classifying 
them,  making  them  as  like  as  possible  to  printers' 
proofs;  and  it  may  easily  be  imagined  that  she 
occupied  much  time  reading  them  over  and  over 
again.  Everything  he  wrote  was  equally  sub- 
lime in  her  eyes.  If  she  permitted  herself  to 
show  preference  for  this  or  that  work,  it  was 
only  on  condition  that  she  should  not  be  supposed 
to  be  depreciating  some  other.  In  1846,  Victor 
Hugo  having  arranged  to  make  a  speech  in  the 
House  on  the  "consolidation  and  defense  of  the 
frontier,"  Juliette  read  it  no  less  than  three  times  : 
once  in  La  Presse,  again  in  Le  Messager  and  a 

•February  ist,  1836. 

75 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

third  time  in  La  Presse  again.  She  made  ex- 
tracts from  it  and  put  it  away  among  his  archives. 
She  then  wrote  gravely  to  the  author,  that  he  had 
never  been  more  pathetic  or  more  eloquent.  In 
the  same  manner  she  hoarded  all  his  most  trivial 
sketches  and  poorest  caricatures,  and  pasted  them 
into  albums  which  she  carefully  hid.  She  was 
envious  of  Leopoldine,  the  poet's  daughter,  who 
was  doing  the  same  thing  and  naturally  had  more 
opportunities  than  herself,  of  adding  to  the  col- 
lection. 

She  was  more  greedy  still  of  his  theatrical  out- 
put, for  there  her  jealousy  came  into  play.  It  is 
safe  to  affirm  that  for  more  than  fifteen  years, 
namely  from  1834  to  1851,  she  interested  herself 
in  every  single  representation  of  the  dramas  of 
Victor  Hugo.  She  was  present  at  the  Theatre 
Frangais  on  the  first  night  of  Angela  on  the 
28th  of  April,  1835,  and  wished  to  go  again  on 
all  the  following  days  in  spite  of  the  bitter  dis- 
appointment the  play  had  caused  her  through  the 
frustration  of  her  ambition  to  take  part  in  it. 
She  was  there  on  the  2Oth  of  February,  1838,  for 
the  revival  of  Hernani;  and  on  the  8th  of  March 
following  it  was  she  who  applauded  Marie  Dor- 
val  loudest  at  the  revival  of  Marion  Delorme. 
While  Les  Burgraves  was  being  written  she  de- 

76 


To  Victor  Hugo 

manded  to  know  all  about  it  from  its  earliest 
conception,  and  achieved  her  wish.  When  Vic- 
tor Hugo  read  the  play  to  her  she  was  very  much 
moved  and  said,  "I  hardly  know  how  to  descend 
to  earth  again  from  the  sublime  altitude  of  your 
conception."  She  took  part  in  the  distribution 
of  the  roles  and  intrigued  against  Mile.  Maxime 
and  Madame  Fitzjames  whom  she  did  not  want 
for  Guanhumara.7  She  championed  Madame 
Melingue,  who  in  consequence  obtained  the  part. 
At  last  the  first  night  arrived.  There  was  a 
cabal,  a  violent,  aggressive  cabal,  the  signal  of  the 
reaction  of  the  new  practical  school  against  the 
romantic  school.  Who  sat  in  a  prominent  box 
and  opposed  the  firmest  front  to  the  hissing 
crowd?  Juliette!  Who  dared  accuse  Beauval- 
let  of  murdering  the  part  of  the  Duke  Job? 
Juliette  again !  "To  applaud  thus  your  beautiful 
verses,"  she  wrote  on  the  thirteenth  of  March, 
"and  hurl  myself  into  the  fray  in  their  defense 
is  only  another  way  of  making  love.  Ah,  I  wish 
I  could  be  a  man  on  the  nights  the  play  is  given.8 
I  promise  you  the  subscribers  of  the  Nationale 

7  It  will  be  remembered  that  Mile.  Maxime  brought  an  action 
against  the  Comedie  and  Victor  Hugo  on  that  point,  which  made 
some   considerable    stir.     (See   the   articles   of   Monsieur   Jules 
Claretie  in  Le  Journal  of  February  5th,  1902.) 

8  Les  Burgraves  alternated  in  the  bill  with  a  piece  by  Madame 
de  Girardin  in  which  Rachel  played  the  heroine. 

77 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

and  Constitutionel  would  see  strange  things!" 
The  afternoons  hung  heavy  in  the  lonely  apart- 
ment of  the  Rue  St.  Anastase.  Sometimes  the 
poet  looked  in  for  a  moment  to  bathe  his  eyes  or 
claim  some  other  domestic  attention,  but  as  a 
rule  his  visits  were  made  in  the  evening  after  the 
parties  and  the  theater.  His  mistress,  therefore, 
begged  and  obtained  permission  to  receive  a  few 
of  her  friends.  They  were  insignificant,  but 
warm-hearted  folk:  Madame  Lanvin,  the  wife 
of  one  of  Pradier's  employes,  who  acted  as  inter- 
mediary, partly  honorary  and  partly  paid,  be- 
tween the  sculptor  and  the  mother  of  Claire 
Pradier;  Madame  Kraft,  an  employe  of  the 
Comedie  Frangaise  who  affected  literary  culture ; 
Madame  Pierceau,  a  worthy  matron,  and  lastly, 
Madame  Bezancenot,  a  tried  ally. 

As  a  rule,  Victor  Hugo  tolerated  the  presence 
of  this  little  company,  but  democratic  though  he 
might  be  in  principle,  it  palled  upon  him  before 
long  and  he  made  some  remonstrance.  Then 
Juliette  revealed  to  him  that  her  need  to  talk  about 
him  had  driven  her  to  institute  a  regular  course 
of  "Hugolatry"  among  the  good  ladies.  They 
made  a  practice  of  reading  his  poems,  declaiming 
his  plays,  and  showering  praise  on  the  independ- 
ence of  his  character  and  the  dignity  of  his  life. 

78 


To  Victor  Hugo 

In  the  face  of  such  delicate  proofs  of  the  affec- 
tion she  bore  him  it  is  not  surprising  that  the 
poet  should  have  entrusted  to  Juliette  his  most 
sacred  hopes  and  ambitions.  She  was  one  of 
those  in  whom  a  lover  may  always  confide  in  the 
certainty  of  being  ever  sustained,  encouraged  and 
approved.  Thus  it  came  about  that  she  was 
cognizant  of  every  effort  Victor  Hugo  made, 
every  step  he  took,  and  even  of  the  intrigues  by 
which  he  climbed  gradually  to  the  Academic 
Frangaise,  then  to  the  Tuileries  and  the  little 
court  of  Neuilly,  and  finally  to  the  Chambre  des 
Pairs. 

Not  that  Juliette  herself  ever  cherished  special 
veneration  for  kings,  princes,  peers  or  Academi- 
cians. Democratic  and  republican  by  the  acci- 
dent of  birth,  as  she  herself  wrote,  she  likewise 
detested  on  principle  everything  that  seemed 
likely  to  attract  or  keep  Victor  Hugo  away  from 
the  Rue  St.  Anastase.  Her  first  inclination 
therefore  was  to  criticise  with  acerbity  Acad- 
emies, drawing-rooms,  politics  and  courts;  but 
the  poet's  determination  was  not  of  the  kind  that 
is  easily  weakened  by  remonstrances.  Juliette 
knew  this.  As  soon  as  she  realized  that  the 
habit  vert  was  really  the  object  of  her  idol's  de- 

79 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

sire  and  that  he  had  set  his  whole  heart  upon 
obtaining  it,  she  abandoned  her  opposition  and 
only  indulged  in  gentle  mockery  calculated  to 
cover  the  retreat  of  the  unsuccessful  candidate 
and  deprive  it  as  much  as  possible  of  bitterness. 

For  Victor  Hugo  was  above  all  an  unfortunate 
candidate,  at  any  rate  of  the  Academic.  In 
February,  1836,  he  was  refused  Laine's  fauteuil 
and  it  was  given  to  a  vaudevillist  of  the  period 
called  Dupaty.  At  the  end  of  November  of  the 
same  year  Mignet  was  preferred  before  him 
for  Raynouard's  vacancy.  In  December,  1839, 
rather  than  select  Hugo,  nobody  was  appointed 
in  the  place  of  Michaud.  In  February,  1840, 
precedence  over  him  was  given  to  the  permanent 
secretary  of  the  Academic  des  Sciences,  Monsieur 
Flourens.  It  was  not  until  the  7th  of  January, 
1841,  that  he  was  elected  to  Lemercier's  fauteuil 
by  seventeen  votes  against  fifteen  given  to  a 
dramatist  called  Ancelot,  whose  name  an  un- 
grateful posterity  no  longer  remembers. 

In  all  the  peregrinations  required  by  these  five 
successive  candidatures,  Victor  Hugo  was  in- 
variably accompanied  by  Juliette.  On  the  24th 
of  December,  1835,  sne  wrote  to  him:  "One 
point  on  which  I  will  tolerate  no  nonsense,  is 
your  visits.  I  insist  upon  accompanying  you,  so 

80 


To  Victor  Hugo 

that  I  may  know  how  much  time  you  spend  with 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  Academicians. 
I  shall  by  the  same  means  be  able  to  gather  up 
a  few  crumbs  of  your  society  for  myself,  which  is 
no  small  consideration." 

The  visits  were  begun  between  Christmas  and 
the  New  Year,  in  cold,  dry,  sunny  weather.  Clad 
in  black  according  to  prescribed  custom,  Victor 
Hugo  fetched  his  friend  every  day  from  the  Rue 
St.  Anastase,  got  into  a  cab  with  her  and  showed 
her  the  plan  for  the  afternoon;  at  such  and  such 
a  time  they  must  lay  siege  to  Monsieur  de  Lacre- 
telle ;  after  that  to  Monsieur  Royer-Collard ;  then 
to  Monsieur  Campenon.  Monsieur  de  Lacretelle 
was  too  diplomatic  not  to  give  plenty  of  promises 
and  assurances ;  Monsieur  Royer-Collard  too  good 
a  Jansenist  to  fail  in  a  blunt  refusal  to  the  author 
of  Hernani.  As  for  Monsieur  Campenon,  he  had 
the  reputation  of  being  an  honest  man  and  an 
excellent  amateur  gardener.  His  conversation 
bristled  with  graftings  and  buddings.  How 
should  he  humor  him  about  his  favorite  pursuit? 
Victor  Hugo  asked  his  friend.  Should  he  select 
roses  or  pears,  myrtle  or  cypress?  As  the  good 
creature  was  getting  on  in  years  and  counted 
more  summers  than  literary  successes,  Victor 
Hugo  unkindly  inclined  towards  the  last. 

81 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Juliette  laughed  merrily  and  the  poet  would 
climb  up  numerous  stairs  and  return  with  a  stock 
of  entertaining  anecdotes  which  filled  the  cab  with 
fun  and  color  and  life.  Then  followed  calcula- 
tions of  his  chances;  if  they  seemed  promising, 
Juliette  congratulated  her  "immortal,"  as  she 
called  him  in  anticipation;  if  not,  she  made  fun 
of  the  Academic  once  more. 

At  the  end  of  the  year  the  whole  performance 
began  over  again.  As  in  1835,  Juliette  pre- 
tended not  to  attach  much  importance  to  the  elec- 
tion of  her  lover,  but  this  did  not  prevent  her 
from  hotly  abusing  the  Academic  when,  a  month 
later,  the  society  again  closed  its  portals  to  the 
leader  of  the  romantic  school. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  the  Academic  Franchise 
to  be  most  courted  by  those  who  have  oftenest 
sneered  at  it.  No  institution  has  ever  been  the 
cause  of  so  much  recantation.  Juliette  herself 
was  to  eat  her  words.  On  Thursday,  the  7th  of 
January,  1841,  when  Victor  Hugo  had  at  last 
triumphed  over  his  brother  candidate,  it  was  no 
longer  a  mistress  who  wrote  to  him,  but  a  general 
addressing  a  panegyric  of  victory  to  a  hero. 
"With  your  seventeen  friendly  votes  and  in  spite 
of  the  fifteen  groans  of  your  adversaries,  you  are 
an  Academician !  What  happiness !  You  ought 

82 


To  Victor  Hugo 

to  bring  your  beautiful  face  to  me  to  be  kissed." 
Victor  Hugo  yielded  to  her  gallant  desire,  as 
may  be  imagined,  and  forthwith  began  to  prepare 
for  his  reception.  The  poet  aimed  at  a  mag- 
niloquent and  comprehensive  speech  which  should 
embrace  all  the  great  names  and  ideas  of  the  past, 
present  and  future ;  something  as  vast  as  the  em- 
pire of  Charlemagne  and  as  noble  as  the  genius 
of  Napoleon.  Juliette  on  her  side  dreamed  of  a 
dress  of  white  tarlatan  mounted  in  broad  pleats 
and  decorated  with  a  rose-colored  scarf  like  the 
one  she  had  once  admired  on  the  shoulders  of 
Madame  Volnys,  a  hated  rival  at  the  Comedie 
Franchise. 

Although  the  speech  was  to  be  delivered  in 
June,  Victor  Hugo  had  it  ready  by  the  loth  of 
April ;  he  read  it  to  his  admiring  friend  the  same 
night.  The  white  tarlatan  dress,  alas,  was 
longer  on  the  way.  Several  reasons  conspired 
against  its  completion.  First  of  all,  Juliette  de- 
clared that  she  would  concede  to  nobody  the 
honor  of  presenting  the  new  member  with  his 
lace  ruffles :  this  involved  an  expenditure  of  about 
twenty-three  francs,  a  heavy  toll  on  the  exchequer 
of  the  lovers.  Secondly,  Victor  Hugo's  reception 
was  to  fall  upon  nearly  the  same  date  as  the  first 
communion  of  Juliette's  daughter,  Claire  Pradier, 

83 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

which  was  yet  another  cause  of  expense.  The 
young  woman  bravely  sacrificed  her  frock  and 
having  consoled  herself  by  making  a  fair  copy 
of  the  master's  splendid  speech,  she  awaited  the 
great  day.  But  at  the  very  moment  she  hoped  to 
see  it  dawn  without  further  disappointment,  ma- 
licious fate  brought  her,  and  consequently  Victor 
Hugo  and  the  Academic,  face  to  face  with  a  fresh 
dilemma  of  the  gravest  importance,  namely,  the 
question  of  the  pulpit  for  the  momentous  occa- 
sion. 

The  time-honored  affair  was  a  wooden  erection 
of  mean  appearance,  stained  to  represent  mahog- 
any. On  ordinary  days  it  was  contemned  and 
relegated  to  the  lumber  room  of  the  Bibliotheque 
de  ITnstitut.  But  on  the  occasion  of  the  recep- 
tion of  a  new  member,  custom  prescribed  that  it 
should  be  placed  under  the  cupola  in  front  of  the 
agitated  neophyte.  Etiquette  demanded  that  the 
latter  should  place  upon  it  his  gloves  and  the 
notes  of  his  address;  but  the  rickety  thing  had 
already  borne  so  much  eloquence  in  the  past,  that 
it  tottered  under  the  weight  of  its  responsibilities. 
It  stood  weakly  upon  a  crooked  pedestal,  in  im- 
minent danger  of  subsidence.  Instead  of  being 
a  haughty  pulpit,  equal  to  any  occasion,  it  seemed 
to  offer  humble  apology  for  its  foolish  existence. 

84 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Such  was  the  farcical  object  Victor  Hugo  had 
to  interpose  between  himself  and  Juliette  on  the 
day  of  the  great  ceremonial.  She  lost  her  sleep 
over  it;  for  a  time  even  the  lace  ruffles  and  the 
speech  and  the  white  tarlatan  dress  and  rose- 
colored  scarf  retired  into  the  background:  "I 
am  in  a  state  of  inexpressible  agitation  and  worry 
over  this  wretched  pulpit/'  she  wrote.  "I  shall 
be  just  at  the  back  of  it.  I  am  in  perfect  despair ! 
Truly  since  this  Apprehension  has  taken  posses- 
sion of  me,  I  have  become  the  most  wretched  of 
women.  I  think  if  I  cannot  see  your  handsome, 
radiant  face  that  day,  nothing  will  keep  me  from 
bursting  into  sobs  of  rage  and  misery.  The  very 
thought  fills  my  eyes  with  tears."  9 

In  spite  of  himself,  Victor  Hugo  shared  one 
characteristic  with  Jean  Racine :  he  could  not  bear 
to  see  a  pretty  woman  cry.  He  therefore  took 
decisive  measures  and  managed  to  assuage  his 
friend's  grief.  Juliette  was  assured  that  what- 
ever happened  she  should  contemplate  her  "dear 
little  orator"  at  her  ease,  that  is  to  say,  from  head 
to  foot.  Unfortunately  it  was  ordained  that 
calmness  should  not  inhabit  this  passionate  soul 
for  long  together.  The  night  preceding  the  re- 
ception Juliette  felt  frightfully  nervous,  and  while 

9  May  30th,  1841.' 

85 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Victor  Hugo  sat  up  correcting  the  proofs  of  his 
discourse  at  the  Imprimerie  Royale,  she  retired, 
saying  irritably:  "I  am  like  the  savages  who 
take  to  their  beds  when  their  wives  give  birth  to 
children."  At  4.30  a.  m.,  she  was  already  up, 
wrote  several  letters  to  her  lover,  dressed,  and 
hurried  to  the  Palais  Mazarin,  where  she  took  up 
a  position  in  the  front  row,  before  even  the 
platoon  of  infantry  detailed  for  guard  had  ar- 
rived. 

According  to  the  testimony  of  Victor  Hugo's 
enemies  as  well  as  of  his  friends,  the  reception 
surpassed  in  dignity  and  brilliancy  anything  the 
cupola  had  previously  witnessed.  The  Court  was 
represented  by  the  Due  and  Duchesse  d'Orleans, 
the  Duchesse  de  Nemours,  and  the  Princesse 
Clementine,  in  a  tribune.  Fashionable  society 
and  the  world  of  letters  jostled  each  other  on  the 
benches.  There  were  women  everywhere,  even 
beside  the  most  ancient  and  prim  of  Academi- 
cians. Old  Monsieur  Jay  was  partially  concealed 
under  billows  of  laces,  gauzes,  silks,  and  satins, 
worn  by  his  neighbors,  Madame  Louise  Colet  and 
Mile.  Doze.  Monsieur  fitienne  waggled  his  head 
between  two  monstrous  hats  so  Deflowered  that 
with  one  movement  he  disturbed  the  fteurs  du 
Perou  of  Madame  Thiers  and  with  the  next  he 

86 


I 


To  Victor  Hugo 

ruffled  the  bunches  of  roses  on  Madame  Anais 
Segalas'  head. 

Juliette  saw  nothing  of  all  this ;  neither  did  she 
heed  the  irrelevant  babble  of  her  neighbor  on  the 
right,  Monsieur  Desmousseaux  of  the  Comedie 
Franchise,  or  of  her  guest  on  the  left,  Madame 
Pierceau.  She  was  in  a  state  of  painful  yet  de- 
licious turmoil,  and  when  Victor  Hugo  made  his 
entry  she  nearly  fainted.  Fortunately  the  poet 
gave  her  a  smiling  look  before  beginning  his 
speech  which  restored  her  to  life ;  and  she  settled 
down  to  listen  to  his  eloquent  words  as  if  she 
had  not  already  written  them  out  until  she  knew 
them  by  heart.  To-day  they  seemed  invested 
with  fresh  beauties  and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the 
enjoyment  of  the  moment.  The  magnificent 
imagery  which  decked  Victor  Hugo's  first  address 
at  the  Academic,  concealed  calculation  of  the  most 
worldly  wise  description.  Victor  Hugo  aspired 
to  the  Chambre  des  Pairs,  as  a  stepping  stone  to 
a  power  which  would  assist  him  to  develop  the 
moral  and  social  mission  he  deemed  to  be  the  true 
function  of  a  poet.  To  achieve  this  aim  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  first  belong  to  one  of  the 
societies  from  among  which  alone  the  King  could 
legally  select  the  members  of  that  Assembly. 
The  Academic  was  one  of  these,  hence  the  sue- 

87 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

cessive  candidatures  of  the  poet,  and  the  special 
tone  of  his  discourse  in  which  all  the  political 
parties  were  blandished  and  caressed  alike ;  hence 
finally,  the  visits  to  Court,  which  increased  in  fre- 
quency after  1841. 

Just  as  Juliette  had  practically  burned  in  effigy 
almost  all  the  Academicians  of  her  time  before 
she  had  the  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  them  and  finding  them  charming,  so  she 
began  by  criticising  and  censuring  Louis  Philippe 
and  his  children  with  the  greatest  severity. 
"Were  not  these  people  going  to  wrest  her  poet 
from  her?  And  for  what?  For  the  sake  of 
empty  honors,  and  useless  occupations !"  There- 
fore we  find  Juliette  preaching  to  her  lover  the 
contempt  of  earthly  greatness.  She  was  fiercely 
jealous  of  the  citizen-king. 

In  order  to  calm  her  apprehensions,  Victor 
Hugo  had  only  to  reveal  to  her  his  secret  plans; 
from  the  first  moment  that  he  mentione,d  the 
Pairie  to  her  she  became  complacent  and  Orleon- 
iste.  Whether  the  poet  went  to  harangue  the 
widow  of  the  soldier  prince  in  the  name  of  the 
Academic  after  the  accident  of  1842,  or  whether 
he  paid  her  a  private  visit,  Juliette  always  in- 
sisted upon  accompanying  him  to  Neuilly,  and 
there  she  would  wait  sitting  in  a  cab  outside, 

88 


To  Victor  Hugo 

whilst  her  lover  coined  honeyed  phrases  inside 
the  palace. 

The  Duchesse  was  German,  simple,  a  good 
mother,  and  deeply  religious.  Of  Victor  Hugo's 
works  the  only  one  she  was  familiar  with  was 
No.  XXXIII  of  the  Chants  du  Crepuscule,  Dans 
L'Eglise  de  .  .  . 

"C'etait  une  humble  eglise  au  cintre  surbaisse, 

L'eglise  ou.  nous  entrames, 
Ou  depuis  trois  cents  ans  avaient  deja  passe, 

Et  pleure  des  ames." 

The  good  lady  probably  thought  these  verses 
had  been  composed  in  a  moment  of  deep  fervor, 
in  honor  of  a  respected  spouse.  She  congrat- 
ulated the  poet,  quoted  some  of  the  lines  to  him, 
questioned  him  minutely  about  his  children — and 
while  he  enlarged  on  these  domestic  topics,  the 
real  heroine  of  the  beautiful  poetry  so  dear  to  the 
Duchesse,  sat  waiting  below  in  the  cab  .  .  . 
dreaming  of  the  future  peer  of  France;  she  al- 
ready saw  him  in  imagination  descending  the 
great  staircase  of  the  Luxembourg  with  a  de- 
meanor full  of  dignity.  For  her  part,  she  was 
more  than  ever  content  to  remain  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps  in  a  posture  of  humility  among  the 
crowd  of  watchers.  .  .  .  When  the  poet  issued  at 
last  from  the  ducal  apartments,  she  would  tell 

89 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

him  her  dream  and  he  would  complacently 
acquiesce. 

The  appointment  of  Victor  Hugo  to  the  Pairie 
appeared  in  the  Moniteur  of  April  I5th,  1845.  ^ 
must  be  left  to  politicians  to  determine  in  what 
degree  the  presence  of  "Olympio"  could  profit  the 
councils  of  the  nation ;  but  to  Juliette's  biographer 
the  entry  of  her  lover  into  the  Luxembourg  seems 
a  felicitous  event.  From  that  moment,  in  fact, 
the  young  woman  ceased  to  be  cloistered.  Busier 
than  ever  and  perhaps  less  jealous,  the  poet  per- 
mitted his  mistress  to  accompany  him  to  the 
Luxembourg  and  to  return  alone  to  the  Marais. 
At  first  Juliette  hardly  knew  how  to  take  this  un- 
familiar freedom.  With  her  lover  absent,  she 
had  grown  accustomed  to  semi-obscurity.  The 
blatant  sunshine  seemed  to  mock  her  loneliness. 
She  writes :  "Nobody  can  feel  sadder  than  I  do, 
when  I  trudge  through  the  streets  alone.  I  have 
not  done  such  a  thing  for  twelve  years  and  I  ask 
myself  what  it  may  portend.  Is  it  a  mark  of  your 
confidence,  or  of  your  indifference?  Perhaps 
both — in  any  case  I  am  far  from  content." 

Gradually,  however,  she  fell  into  the  new 
ways.  She  used  to  walk  back  from  the  Luxem- 
bourg by  way  of  the  Pont  Neuf  and  the  Quais. 
She  amused  herself  by  trying  to  trace  the  foot- 
go 


To  Victor  Hugo 

steps  of  Victor  Hugo  and  fit  her  own  little  shoes 
into  them.  When  she  reached  home  she  im- 
mersed herself  deeper  than  ever  in  the  preoccupa- 
tions of  her  lover. 

Occasionally,  fortunately,  she  had  a  reaction. 
She  read  little :  the  letters  of  Madame  de  Sevigne, 
perhaps,  or  those  of  Mile,  de  Lespinasse.  She 
tended  her  flowers,  for  Victor  Hugo  had  made 
her  remove  from  No.  14  to  No.  12  Rue  St. 
Anastase,  where  her  ground-floor  rooms  opened 
on  to  a  garden.10  There,  in  a  space  of  sixty 
square  feet  she  had  four  bushes  of  crimson  roses 
and  a  few  dozen  prolific  strawberry  plants  des- 
tined to  furnish  the  poet's  favorite  dessert  all 
through  the  summer.  She  attended  to  all  the 
most  trivial  details  in  person,  making  them  all 
subservient  to  her  love. 

In  this  wise — with  the  exception  of  a  few  bouts 
of  jealousy  of  which  we  shall  have  occasion  to 
speak  later — Juliette's  days  flowed  almost  happily. 
She  no  longer  brooded  over  her  past ;  redemption 
through  love  seemed  to  her  an  accomplished  fact. 
When  she  turned  to  the  future  it  was  with  ideas 

10  The  removal  took  place  in  the  month  of  February,  1845. 
The  rent  and  accommodation  of  the  apartment  were  about  the 
same  as  at  No.  14.  The  furnishing  which  Victor  Hugo  wished 
to  make  somewhat  more  luxurious,  cost  2,256  francs,  including 
the  first  quarter's  rent. 

91 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

borrowed  from  Victor  Hugo  certainly,  but  none 
the  less  consoling  since  they  authorized  her  to 
hope  for  the  eternal  reunion  of  souls  beyond  the 
confines  of  this  earth.  On  the  3ist  of  December, 
1842,  the  poet  had  dedicated  some  delicate  verses 
to  her  which  she  learned  by  heart.  They  were 
part  of  a  creed  by  which  Juliette  hoped  to  fortify 
her  soul  against  the  arrows  of  fortune — hopes 
fallacious  in  the  event.  First  death,  then  treach- 
ery were  about  to  rend  her  faithful  heart  as  a 
child's  toy  is  smashed. 


92 


CHAPTER  V 

CLAIRE    PRADIER 

ABOUT  the  year  1844,  when  Victor  Hugo 
visited  his  friend  on  Sundays  and  holidays, 
he  used  to  find  seated  at  his  private  table,  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  own  permission,  a  tall  girl  of 
eighteen,  very  fair,  very  pale,  with  very  black 
eyes — two  prunes,  as  he  said,  dropped  in  a  sau- 
cer of  milk.  Often  she  did  not  hear  him  enter. 
Bending  her  willowy  neck  and  undeveloped  bust 
over  her  books,  she  was  immersed  in  study,  per- 
haps also  in  reverie.  Sometimes  he  kissed  her 
affectionately ;  at  other  times,  bowed  formally. 
The  lowly  assistant  mistress  of  a  suburban  school, 
marveling  at  the  great  man's  condescension, 
would  rise  blushing  and  submit  her  pale  brow  to 
his  lips.  She  would  then  ask  permission  to  re- 
turn to  her  task;  the  examinations  were  near  at 
hand  and  as  she  was  going  up  for  a  diploma,  she 
must  work. 

Sometimes  Victor  Hugo  smilingly  took  up  the 
books  scattered  on  the  table,  weighed  the  value 
of  each  with  a  glance,  then,  pushing  them  all 

93 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

aside  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  sat  down  saying : 
"Now  then,  Claire,  I  will  be  your  tutor  to-day," 
and  the  lesson  began,  vivid,  enthusiastic,  brilliant 
as  a  poem. 

The  reader  would  be  justly  disappointed  if  we 
failed  to  relate  the  story  of  the  girl  to  whom  this 
"magician  of  words"  thus  unveiled  the  beauties 
of  the  French  language.  Besides,  a  deeper  ac- 
quaintance with  the  daughter  may  lead  to  a  bet- 
ter understanding  of  the  mother;  therefore  we 
append  a  short  sketch  of  Claire  Pradier. 


Claire  was  born  in  Paris  in  1826.  Her  father, 
the  sculptor,  undertook  the  care  of  her  early  child- 
hood, while  her  mother,  as  we  have  learnt,  was  in 
Germany  and  Belgium.  He  put  her  out  to  nurse 
at  Vert,  near  Mantes,  with  a  married  couple 
named  Dupuis,  and  sometimes  combined  a  visit 
to  her  with  a  little  sport,  in  the  shooting  season. 

He  brought  her  back  to  Paris  on  the  i$th  of 
October,  1828.  From  letters  of  his  which  have 
been  preserved,  we  are  justified  in  believing  that 
he  derived  some  satisfaction  from  his  educational 
role.  His  pen  is  prolific  in  praise  of  the  child 
with  "the  locks  of  pale  gold,"  "the  roguish  brown 
eyes,"  "the  apple-red  cheeks,"  whose  "nose  ends 

94 


CLAIRE    PRADIER   AT    FIFTEEN 
From  an  unpublished  drawing  by  her  father. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

in  a  pretty  tilt"  which  reminds  him  agreeably  of 
Juliette's. 

He  discovers  in  his  daughter  a  fine  nature, 
plenty  of  intelligence,  and  so  much  feeling  that 
he  hesitates  for  a  time  whether  he  shall  apply  his 
efforts  to  checking  its  development  or  to  cultivat- 
ing it, — in  the  first  case  he  would  turn  Claire  into 
a  semi-idiot  in  order  not  to  let  her  passions  be- 
come too  strong  for  her  happiness,  and  in  the 
second  he  might  make  of  her  an  artist  capable  of 
the  most  splendid  impulses  and  the  noblest  fulfill- 
ment. 

If  Pradier  is  to  be  believed,  the  child  herself 
decided  in  favor  of  the  latter.  At  the  age  of 
three,  guided  by  paternal  suggestion  in  the  studio 
of  the  Rue  de  1'Abbaye,  she  chose  for  her  favorite 
plaything  a  stuffed  swan.  From  her  games  with 
this  handsomely  fashioned  bird  she  derived  a 
taste  for  pure  lines  and  fine  pose.  She  also 
listened  to  music  given  at  Pradier's  house  by 
sculptors  and  painters  who  aped  the  art  of  Ingres. 
She  derived  so  much  delight  from  it  that  she 
could  never  afterwards  meet  any  of  these  self-en- 
grossed performers  without  begging  for  a  kiss. 
Finally,  by  his  studies  of  dress,  his  clever  manip- 
ulation of  draperies,  which  he  always  preferred 
to  the  higher  parts  of  his  profession,  Pradier 

95 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

taught  her  to  appreciate  light  and  color.  She 
had  a  vivid  appreciation  of  the  latter,  and  dur- 
ing her  short  life,  a  mere  trifle  such  as  the  blue 
of  the  sky,  or  the  tint  of  a  rose,  gave  her  the  most 
exquisite  pleasure. 

Having  thus  cultivated  the  sensibilities  of  the 
flower  committed  to  his  charge,  Pradier  was  re- 
warded by  the  prestige  attached  to  his  role  of 
master  and  guide;  the  father  reaped  in  tenderness 
what  the  artist  had  expended  in  intelligence  and 
effort.  From  her  earliest  infancy,  Claire  showed 
a  marked  preference  for  this  man,  so  ardent,  so 
gay,  who  taught  her  to  breathe  and  live  among 
works  of  art ;  all  her  life  she  felt  for  him  an  affec- 
tion that  neither  his  mistakes  nor  his  careless- 
ness or  even  his  injustice  could  damp.  Mean- 
while, ever  prolific  in  good  intentions,  always 
ready  with  vows  and  promises,  the  artist  was 
forming  high  hopes  and  ambitions  for  his 
daughter. 

"We  must  hope,"  he  wrote  to  Juliette  on  that 
1 5th  of  October,  1828,  when  he  took  the  child 
away  from  her  nurse,  "that  she  will  live  to  grow 
up  and  that  we  shall  make  a  distinguished  per- 
sonage of  her."  A  little  later,  on  the  28th  of 
September,  1829,  he  writes:  "Dear  friend,  you 
are  fortunate  in  the  possession  of  a  Claire  who 

96 


To  Victor  Hugo 

will  be  a  great  solace  to  you  in  your  old  age." 
Again  on  the  4th  of  July,  1832 :  "Who  can  love 
her  better  than  I  do,  especially  now  that  I  see 
her  rare  intelligence  developing  so  satisfactorily 
and  encouragingly  for  our  designs?" 

He  planned  for  his  little  daughter  the  most 
singular  and  unexpected  gifts :  once  it  was  to  be 
the  proceeds  of  his  bust  of  Chancellor  Pasquier, 
a  commission  he  owed  to  Juliette  and  her  friend- 
ship with  the  subject;  another  time,  it  was  the 
price  of  a  house  he  possessed  at  Ville  d'Avray  and 
wished  to  sell;  again  he  designed  to  settle  upon 
Claire  the  sum  of  two  thousand  francs  he  had  lent 
to  a  cousin — fine  words,  as  empty  as  the  hollow 
moldings  that  decorated  the  studio  of  the  man; 
the  cousin  never  returned  the  loan,  the  house  at 
Ville  d'Avray  was  sold  by  order  of  the  court  at 
a  moment  when  the  mortgage  upon  it  far  sur- 
passed its  value,  and  the  bust  of  Chancellor  Pas- 
quier, though  ordered,  was  never  even  rough- 
cast by  Pradier. 

Juliette  had  determined  to  live  with  Victor 
Hugo  in  the  conditions  of  poverty  indicated  in  a 
former  chapter.  Her  natural  delicacy  prompted 
her  to  make  the  future  of  her  child  secure  and 
at  the  same  time  to  release  the  poet  from  all  anxi- 
ety on  that  score. 

97 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1833  therefore  she 
wrote  to  Pradier  asking  him  to  acknowledge 
Claire.  The  answer  of  the  sculptor  was  as  fol- 
lows: 

"Dear  Friend, 

"Your  letter  did  not  displease  me  at  all,  as  you 
seem  to  have  feared  that  it  would.  Its  motive 
was  too  praiseworthy  to  cause  me  any  sentiment 
contrary  to  your  own.  The  only  thing  that 
vexes  me  is  that  I  should  be  unable  to  do  at  once 
what  you  desire  and  what  I  fully  intend  to  do 
eventually,  though  in  a  manner  carefully  calcu- 
lated not  to  interfere  with  the  future  or  tran- 
quillity of  any  other  person.  It  grieves  me  that 
you  do  not  realize  what  I  feel  towards  you  and 
Claire!  I  believed  that  all  your  hopes  were 
centered  in  me !  I  am  so  crushed  with  debt  that 
I  cannot  think  of  executing  my  intentions  at  pres- 
ent. Good-by,  get  well  and  hope  only  in  me. 
You  have  not  lost  me,  either  of  you — far  from  it ! 
Good-by,  your  very  devoted  friend  and  much 
more, 

"J.  PRADIER/'  1 

It  is  easy  to  guess  how  annoyed  Juliette  was  at 
the  receipt  of  such  a  letter.  She  expressed  her 

1 1833. 

98 


To  Victor  Hugo 

disgust  to  Victor  Hugo  in  various  notes  in  which 
she  abused  her  former  lover:  "Wretched  driv- 
eler, stupid  scoundrel,  the  vilest  and  most  idiotic 
of  men,  a  coward  without  faith";  such  are  the 
principal  epithets  she  applied  to  him. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  author  of  Lucrece 
Borgia  interfered  and  obtained  from  Pradier  the 
acknowledgment  of  Claire.2  This  is  absolutely 
incorrect.  It  is  probable  indeed  that  the  poet 
made  the  attempt;  it  seems  certain  that  with  the 
assistance  of  Maniere,  the  attorney,  he  extracted 
from  the  sculptor  the  promise  of  an  allowance, 
but  there  was  no  official  recognition,  and  soon  we 
shall  find  the  father  of  Claire  more  disposed  to 
repudiate  her  than  to  allow  her  the  protection  of 
his  name. 

For  the  moment  he  merely  agreed  that  Juliette 
should  put  the  child  to  school  at  Saumur  with  a 
Madame  Watteville,  whose  Paris  representative 
was  a  certain  Monsieur  de  Barthes.  He  would 
have  liked  Victor  Hugo  and  his  friend  to  under- 
take the  sole  responsibility  of  the  arrangements, 
but  they  prudently  declined  to  do  so  though  they 
lavished  kindness,  caressing  letters,  advice,  and 
treats,  upon  the  little  exile. 

2  Monsieur  Leon  Seche,  Revue  de  Paris,  February  isth,  1903. 

99 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

On  the  28th  of  May,  1835,  Claire,  having  suf- 
fered some  childish  ailment,  received  from  her 
mother  a  doll  and  the  following  letter : 

"Good  morning,  my  dear  little  Claire,  I  hope 
you  will  be  quite  well  again  by  the  time  you  read 
this  letter.  Now  that  you  are  convalescent  I  can 
discuss  serious  matters  with  you.  This  is  what 
I  wish  to  say:  Foreseeing  that  you  may  be  in 
need  of  recreation,  I  send  you  from  Paris  a 
charming  little  companion  who  is  most  amiably 
disposed  to  amuse  you.  But  as  it  would  not  be 
fair  that  the  expenses  of  her  maintenance  should 
devolve  upon  you  during  the  time  of  her  stay  with 
you,  I  also  send  you  a  big  purse  of  money  for  her 
upkeep.  Spend  it  wisely,  in  accordance  with 
your  needs. 

"Monsieur  Toto  is  no  less  anxious  about  her 
than  devoted  to  you.  He  therefore  adds  an  enor- 
mous basket  of  provisions.  I  hope  the  little  girl 
will  not  have  eaten  them  all  up  on  the  way  and 
that  there  will  still  be  something  left  for  you. 

"This  is  not  all.  I  have  also  been  thinking  of 
your  clothes,  dear  little  one,  and  I  send  you  a 
shawl  for  your  walks,  a  white  frock  with  drawers 
to  match,  a  figured  foulard  frock,  a  striped  frock 
without  drawers,  and  a  sleeved  pinafore. 

100 


To  Victor  Hugo 

"Good-by,  dear  good  child.  You  must  tell  me 
if  my  selection  is  to  your  taste.  Love  me  and 
enjoy  yourself,  so  that  I  may  find  you  tall  and 
plump  and  pretty  when  I  come  to  see  you  again. 

"J.  DROUET." 

At  other  times  Victor  Hugo  himself  wrote  af- 
fectionately to  his  friend's  child.  It  is  necessary 
to  read  these  letters,  so  full  of  thoughtful  tender- 
ness, to  gain  a  better  knowledge  of  the  warmth 
of  the  poet's  heart.  Much  will  be  forgiven  him 
in  consideration  of  it. 

"We  love  you  very  much,"  he  wrote  to  Claire 
on  the  23d  of  May,  1833,  "and  you  have  a  sweet 
mother  who,  though  absent,  thinks  a  great  deal 
about  you.  You  must  get  well  quickly  and  thank 
the  good  God  in  your  prayers  every  night  for  giv- 
ing you  such  a  good  little  mother,  as  she  on  her 
part  thanks  Him  for  her  charming  little  daugh- 
ter." 3 

And  a  few  days  after  in  a  postscript  to  a  letter 
to  Juliette:  "P.S.  Monsieur  Toto  sends  love 

3  Catalogue  of  an  interesting  collection  of  autograph  letters 
of  which  the  sale  took  place  on  Saturday,  November  30th,  1912, 
page  21.  Paris.  Noel  Charavay,  1912.  In  another  note  dated 
from  Les  Metz,  Victor  Hugo  tells  Claire  "that  he  loves  her  with 
all  his  heart  and  uses  his  best  handwriting  in  writing  to  her, 
which  is  very  praiseworthy  in  an  old  student  like  himself." 
And  he  adds,  "I .  kiss  both  your  little  peach-cheeks."  (Same, 
p.  22.) 

IOI 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

and  kisses  to  his  little  friend  and  wishes  he  could 
still  have  her  to  travel  everywhere  with  him. 
But  above  all,  he  would  like  to  caress  her  and  look 
after  her  as  his  own  child." 

As  his  own  child:  those  words  were  indeed 
characteristic  of  Victor  Hugo's  feeling  concern- 
ing the  little  girl  thus  thrown  across  his  path  by 
chance,  and  unhesitatingly  adopted  by  him.  At 
first  Claire  either  did  not  realize,  or  was  unwill- 
ing to  return  his  affection.  She  was  jealous  of 
the  big  gentleman  who  stole  some  of  her  mother's 
attention  from  her.  She  was  reserved  and  dis- 
agreeable. Juliette  was  indignant  but  the  poet 
did  not  relax  his  efforts  to  win  her.  With  the 
authority  of  Pradier,  who  was  only  too  pleased 
to  delegate  it  to  him,5  he  placed  Claire  on  the  I5th 
of  April,  1836,  in  a  school  at  St.  Mande,  35  Ave- 
nue du  Bel- Air,  kept  by  a  Madame  Marre.  From 
that  moment,  whether  he  paid  her  a  surprise  visit 
in  the  parlor  on  Thursday  afternoons  with 
Juliette  beaming  from  the  enjoyment  of  the  trip, 
or  whether  she  spent  Sundays  with  her  mother, 
Claire  Pradier  insensibly  grew  to  connect  Vic- 
tor Hugo  with  Juliette  in  her  affections,  to  give  to 

4  Autograph  postscript  by  Victor  Hugo  to  a  letter  to  Juliette 
on  the  28th  of  May,  1833,  quoted  above. 

6  Pradier  did  not  fail  to  write  a  sermon  on  this  occasion  full 
of  the  unction  and  solecisms  in  which  he  habitually  excelled. 

I O2 


To  Victor  Hugo 

them  both  equal  respect,  and  to  link  them  to- 
gether in  her  prayers.  Exceedingly  sensitive  by 
nature,  more  eager  for  love  than  for  learning,  she 
fell  into  habits  of  day-dreaming  in  school  or  out 
in  the  meadows,  and  only  seemed  to  recover  the 
brightness  of  cheeks  and  eyes  when  the  lovers 
fetched  her,  and  toasted  her  little  cold,  contracted 
fingers  in  their  warm  ones.  Then  the  apartment 
in  the  Rue  St.  Anastase  resounded  with  her  merry 
chatter  and  she  joined  eagerly  in  the  rites  of 
which  Victor  Hugo  was  the  god  and  Juliette  the 
priestess. 

In  1840,  when  she  had  attained  her  fifteenth 
year,  Claire's  mother  thought  it  right  to  confide 
to  her  the  secret  of  her  irregular  birth.  She  told 
her  also  of  Pradier's  neglect  of  her  and  Victor 
Hugo's  goodness.  She  exhorted  her  to  be  simple 
in  her  ideas  and  not  to  set  her  ambitions  too  high. 
Claire  manifested  much  chagrin  and  vexation  at 
first,  but  presently  her  natural  piety  awoke  and 
Juliette  was  able  to  write:  "Claire  is  forever 
in  church."  Victor  Hugo  took  upon  himself  to 
open  the  girl's  eyes  to  the  practical  side  of  life, 
and  to  point  out  to  her  the  necessity  of  prepar- 
ing for  a  profession  as  early  as  possible.6  In  re- 
sponse to  these  appeals  to  her  reason  Claire  soon 

6  June  5th,  1841. 

103 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

accepted  her  lot  with  a  brave  heart.  It  was 
settled  that  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  that  is  to  say 
in  1844,  she  should  be  engaged  as  an  assistant 
mistress  in  Madame  Marre's  school,  in  exchange 
for  board  and  lodging,  but  without  salary.  She 
agreed  also  to  study  for  a  diploma,  and  she  hoped, 
when  once  she  had  gained  it,  to  find  some  honor- 
able and  paid  employment,  by  Victor  Hugo's 
help. 

Claire  fell  to  work  with  an  ardor,  a  good  humor 
and  an  intelligence,  that  drew  from  Juliette  the 
warmest  commendation  for  her  daughter  and 
gratitude  for  Victor  Hugo. 

One  cannot  but  wonder  whether  Claire  Pradier 
was  really  happy  at  heart  or  whether  that  eight- 
een-year-old brow,  pure  and  fair  as  Juliette's  own, 
perchance  concealed  a  spirit  weighed  down  by 
melancholy.  She  was  good-looking,  certainly, 
and  knew  it.  In  her  chestnut  locks,  her  eyes 
whose  hue  wavered  between  soft  black  and  the 
blue  of  ocean,  her  rounded  cheeks  often  hectic 
with  fever,  the  distinction  of  a  tall  figure  and 
stately  walk,  she  united 

"A  la  madonne  auguste  d'ltalie 
La  flamande  qui  rit  a  travers  les  houblons."  T 
t  Les  Contemplations.    Livre  V.  XIV.  Claire  P. 

104 


To  Victor  Hugo 

But  beauty  is  no  consolation  to  one  who  feels 
herself  already  touched  by  the  icy  finger  of  death, 
and  who  has  besides  no  incentive  to  prolong  the 
struggle  for  life.  Claire  felt  thus. 

Already  in  earliest  childhood  she  had  shown 
a  delicate  temperament,  uncertain  health,  more 
nerves  than  muscle,  more  sensitiveness  than  vital- 
ity. During  the  whole  of  1837  her  cough  never 
left  her.  In  the  years  that  followed,  her  figure 
scarcely  showed  any  of  the  curves  of  youth. 
When  her  looks  were  praised,  she  smiled  faintly 
and  her  voice,  which  was  lovely  and  caressing 
enough  to  recall  to  Victor  Hugo  the  softest 
cadences  of  "Les  Feuillantines,"  scarce  dared  pro- 
nounce the  word  "to-morrow."  Hence  pro- 
ceeded low  spirits  which  she  was  never  able  to 
shake  off,  though  she  usually  managed  to  conceal 
them  from  her  mother.  Presentiments  also  beset 
her.  "I  often  dream  of  those  I  love,"  she  wrote 
to  her  mother,  "and  when  I  wake  up,  I  long  to 
sleep  on  forever." 

Mobile  as  the  chisel  he  manipulated  so  skillfully, 
volatile  as  the  dust  of  the  plaster  which  powdered 
him,  Pradier  gave  Claire  neither  regular  assist- 
ance nor  moral  support.  He  had  married,  and 
was  the  father  of  several  legitimate  children. 

105 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Unfortunate  as  was  the  notoriety  of  his  wife, 
and  far-reaching  the  scandals  provoked  by  her, 
he  yet  desired  to  preserve  before  his  natural 
daughter  a  primly  respectable  attitude  and  a  mod- 
esty quite  Calvinistic.  He  was  as  careful  to 
avoid  the  occasions  of  meeting  her  as  Claire  her- 
self was  eager  to  provoke  them.  The  more  she 
overwhelmed  him  with  little  presents,  worked  by 
her  own  fingers,  tender  evidences  of  an  uncon- 
querable affection,  the  more  indifferent  and  dis- 
courteous he  showed  himself,  forgetting  to  pay 
her  monthly  allowance,  forgetting  to  give  her 
New  Year's  presents,  forgetting  even  to  keep  his 
appointments  with  her — leaving  her  to  wait  pa- 
tiently in  the  cold  studio  of  Rue  de  1'Abbaye  while 
he  played  the  gallant  on  the  boulevard. 

He  had,  nevertheless,  permitted  the  girl  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  his  legitimate  children  and 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  put  his  youngest  child,  Char- 
lotte Pradier,  at  the  same  school,  when  he  sent 
his  two  sons  to  Auteuil  to  a  boarding-school.  In 
the  month  of  May,  1845,  Claire  with  an  impulse 
natural  in  a  girl  of  nineteen,  wished  to  give  the 
two  schoolboys  the  pleasure  of  a  sisterly  letter; 
she  got  Charlotte  to  write  also.  The  sculptor 
heard  of  it  and  this  is  how  he  treated  her  trivial 
indiscretion. 

1 06 


To  Victor  Hugo 

"My  dear  big  Claire,  I  have  seen  the  head- 
master of who  has  informed  me  that  you 

and  Charlotte  have  written  to  J 8     Pray  write 

as  seldom  as  possible.  I  do  not  think  young 
girls  should  use  their  pens  to  reveal  their  senti- 
ments. Such  a  habit  is  too  easily  acquired ;  they 
should  know  how,  yet  not  do  it.  Besides,  the 
children  see  each  other  every  fortnight  and  that  is 
enough.  Please  do  not  sign  yourself  Pradier  to 
them  any  more.  Such  a  thing  becomes  known 
and  might  cause  gossip.  You  do  not  need  the 
name,  to  be  loved  and  respected.  Be  frank  and 
fear  nothing.  Your  good  time  will  come  some 
day.  You  must  be  prudent  in  all  respects.  The 
children  must  accustom  themselves  to  your  posi- 
tion as  it  is;  they  will  take  more  interest  in  you 
later.  Also,  as  I  am  on  these  subjects,  pray  use 
some  other  formulae  in  your  letters  to  me  than 
'adored  father,'  or  'beloved/  I  am  not  accus- 
tomed to  them.  Such  epithets  are  only  appropri- 
ate to  a  god.  Call  me  anything  else  that  comes 
natural  to  you.  It  is  unnecessary  that  I  should 
prompt  you ;  your  feelings  will  be  your  best  guide. 
Please  write  more  legibly,  for  I  receive  your  let- 
ters at  night,  and  above  all,  write  only  when  you 
have  something  special  to  say.  You  must  not 

8  One  of  the  sons  of  the  sculptor  was  called  John. 

107 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

become  a  scribbler  about  nothing — I  mean  for 
the  mere  pleasure  of  using  your  pen." 

How  such  a  letter  must  have  wounded  the  heart 
which  once  beat  so  tenderly  for  Pradier !  Neither 
the  caresses  of  Juliette  nor  the  soothing  words  of 
Victor  Hugo  were  able  to  comfort  Claire.10  One 
month  after  her  father  had  thus  disowned  her, 
she  went  up  for  her  examination,  and,  partly 
through  grief,  partly  through  timidity,  failed  ut- 
terly. It  was  the  last  stroke. 

Not  that  her  constitution  showed  any  imme- 
diate sign  of  the  shock  it  had  sustained,  or  broke 
down  at  once.  Her  physical  appearance  re- 
mained unchanged,  but  death  entered  her  soul 
and  lurked  there  henceforward,  as  sometimes  it 
lies  under  the  depths  of  waters  which  flow  calmly 
to  outward  seeming.  She  made  her  will. 

From  that  moment,  Claire  Pradier  lived  like 
those  resigned  invalids  who,  raising  their  gaze 
to  the  Heaven  above  them,  no  longer  heed  the 
passing  of  the  hours,  while  they  await  the  su- 
preme summons.  She  waited.  Her  mother,  see- 
ing her  still  apparently  healthy,  failed  to  realize 
her  condition  and  took  the  beginning  of  this  mute 
colloquy  with  death  for  a  mere  return  of  her 

9  25th  of  April,  1845. 
10  27th  of  April,  1845. 

108 


To  Victor  Hugo 

daughter's  former  depression.  Nevertheless  an 
incident  which  happened  in  the  month  of 
February,  1846,  gave  to  Juliette  also  one  of  those 
presentiments  which  cannot  deceive.  Like  Claire, 
she  waited. 

It  was  not  for  long.  On  the  2ist  of  March, 
1846,  having  gone  to  St.  Mande  to  see  the  young 
assistant  mistress,  she  took  with  her  the  design 
and  material  for  a  piece  of  work  Victor  Hugo 
had  asked  for.  The  idea  was  to  embroider  his 
family  coat-of-arms  on  coarse  canvas  in  colors 
selected  by  himself.  This  complicated  heraldic 
work  was  to  adorn  the  backs  of  two  Gothic  arm- 
chairs in  his  rooms  in  the  Place  Royale. 

Contrary  to  her  usual  habit,  Claire  showed  very 
little  interest  in  the  poet's  plans;  she  listened  ab- 
sently and  spoke  very  little.  A  dry  cough  shook 
her  frame  from  time  to  time,  her  cheeks  burned 
with  fever.  Juliette  walked  home  by  way  of  the 
Avenue  de  Bel-Air,  the  Barriere  du  Trone  and 
the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  Victor  Hugo,  who 
was  always  anxious  about  her,  was  to  meet  her 
half  way.  He  did  so;  she  was  walking  slowly, 
with  bent  head,  and  when  he  asked  for  news  of 
his  embroidery,  she  burst  into  tears.  The  poet 
understood  in  an  instant.  By  his  instructions, 
Claire  was  removed  to  Rue  St.  Anastase  the  very 

109 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

next  day;  Triger,  her  mother's  doctor,  was  in- 
structed to  visit  her  daily.  Not  venturing  to  pro- 
nounce at  once  the  dread  name  of  consumption,  he 
spoke  of  a  chill  and  chlorosis.  Claire  scarcely 
heeded  and  indicated  by  a  feeble  gesture  that  she 
was  too  spent  to  care.  The  head  she  tried  to 
raise  from  the  pillow  fell  back  as  if  too  heavy 
for  the  frail  neck.  Her  large  dark  eyes  gazed 
through  space  at  some  melancholy  vision.  Her 
hands  upon  the  white  sheets  hardly  retained 
strength  to  clasp  themselves  in  a  caress  or  a 
prayer. 

She  begged  that  Pradier  might  be  informed  of 
her  illness.  He  wrote  first  and  then  came.  He 
demonstrated  his  affection  by  theatrical  gestures 
and  well  chosen  words.  Then  he  placed  a  villa, 
which  he  said  he  possessed,  at  Auteuil  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  invalid  and  her  mother.  The  so- 
called  villa  proved  to  be  one  floor  in  a  tenement 
house,  57  Rue  de  La  Fontaine.  Claire  was  taken 
there  in  the  early  part  of  May.  Her  mother  ac- 
companied her.  Victor  Hugo  visited  them 
nearly  every  day,  but  neither  the  compliments  of 
"Monsieur  Toto,"  nor  the  roses  he  brought  his 
ex-pupil,  nor  the  exhortations  of  Doctor  Louis, 
whom  he  brought  with  him  one  day,  were  suc- 
cessful in  restoring  color  to  the  countenance  of 

no 


To  Victor  Hugo 

one  whose  illness  left  her  every  day  paler  and 
more  exhausted.  Claire  hardly  dared  raise  her- 
self in  bed;  icy  sweats  drenched  her  and  she 
moaned  continuously  in  a  manner  terribly  pain- 
ful to  those  who  had  to  stand  by  helplessly. 

On  the  6th  of  June,  she  asked  to  see  the  vicar 
of  St.  Mande,  her  confessor.  On  the  i6th,  she 
received  the  Last  Sacraments.  On  the  i8th,  de- 
lirium supervened  and  she  expired  on  the  2ist. 
They  buried  the  girl  in  the  first  place  at  Auteuil, 
but  when  her  will  was  read,  in  which  she  had 
written:  "I  desire  to  be  buried  in  the  cemetery 
of  Saint-Mande.  I  also  beg  that  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Chaussotte  should  celebrate  my  funeral 
Mass  and  that  green  grass  should  be  grown  on 
my  grave,"  Victor  Hugo  and  Pradier  agreed  to 
have  the  coffin  exhumed.  The  ceremony  took 
place  on  the  i  ith  of  July.  Juliette,  who  was  more 
dead  than  alive,  was  not  present ;  but  Victor  Hugo 
and  Pradier  walked  together  behind  the  funeral 
car,  leading  the  white  procession  of  Claire's 
young  pupils  and  companions.  The  sculptor,  al- 
ways full  of  intentions,  plans,  and  chatter,  dis- 
coursed in  a  low  voice  of  the  magnificent  tomb  he 
would  raise  with  his  own  hands  to  the  memory  of 
his  daughter.  It  should  be,  he  said,  "a  sacred 
debt ;  I  shall  execute  it  with  so  much  love  that  my 

in 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

chisel  will  never  before  have  fashioned  anything 
more  chaste  or  more  beautiful." 

After  the  long,  slow  journey  through  Paris  in 
the  sunshine,  they  reached  the  cemetery  of  St. 
Mande.  Near  the  tomb  of  the  poet's  friend,  Ar- 
mand  Carel,  a  freshly  dug  grave  yawned,  gloomy 
and  covetous.  There  was  some  singing,  some 
blessing,  the  turmoil  of  a  congested  crowd;  then 
they  separated,  but  not  without  a  renewal  of 
Pradier's  promise. 

Eight  years  later,  he  died  himself  without  hav- 
ing discharged  his  "sacred  debt."  One  more 
resolve  had  fizzled  out  in  empty  words.  Victor 
Hugo  was  then  living  precariously  in  exile,  but 
as  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  sculptor's  end,  he  wrote 
off  and  ordered  a  decent  headstone  for  Claire  and 
directed  that  the  grave  should  be  sown  with  green 
grass.  Upon  the  tomb  were  carved  four  of  the 
lines  he  had  erstwhile  written  for  Juliette's  con- 
solation, and  he  set  about  composing  others. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  to  the  very  last  Claire 
Pradier  was  protected  by  the  father  of  Leopoldine 
against  two  of  the  fears  that  had  most  alarmed 
her  youthful  imagination:  "a  neglected  grave  in 
some  distant  cemetery,  and  a  faded  memory  in  the 
hearts  of  men." 


112 


CHAPTER  VI 
"ON  AN  ISLAND" 

J  ULIETTE  relates  that  when  she  had  occasion 
to  admonish  her  maid  or  find  fault  with  a  trades- 
man during  her  residence  in  Jersey  and  Guernsey, 
the  answer  she  invariably  received  was:  "It 
cannot  be  helped,  Madame,  we  are  on  an 
island.  .  .  ." 

The  phrase  tickled  her  fancy,  and  she  adopted 
it  and  made  use  of  it  on  many  occasions. 

The  reader  of  the  following  chapters  must  like- 
wise accept  the  axiom  that,  "on  an  island"  things 
are  not  quite  the  same  as  on  the  mainland;  for 
only  by  so  doing  will  he  be  enabled  to  peruse  with- 
out undue  astonishment  the  extraordinary  narra- 
tion of  the  life  led  in  common  by  Victor  Hugo,  his 
wife,  sons,  friends,  and  mistress  between  1851 
and  1872. 

Its  beginning  dates  from  the  poet's  sojourn  in 
Belgium  without  Madame  Victor  Hugo,  at  the 
beginning  of  his  exile,1  that  is  to  say  in  the  last 

1The  thrilling  episode  of  Victor  Hugo's  political  adventures 
in  1851,  by  which  his  life  was  placed  in  jeopardy  through  his 
espousal  of  the  cause  of  liberty  and  progress,  is  related  by  him- 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

weeks  of  the  year  1851  and  the  first  half  of  1852. 
Not  that  his  precarious  circumstances  and  pru- 
dent, somewhat  middle-class  habits  permitted  him 
to  house  Juliette  under  his  own  roof :  indeed,  their 
liaison  was  never  more  secret.  But  at  Brussels 
the  problem  of  the  relations  henceforth  to  exist 
between  the  sons  of  Victor  Hugo  and  she  whom 
they  already  called  "our  friend,  Madame  Drouet," 
first  came  up  for  solution.  It  was  at  Brussels 
also  that  Juliette  set  herself  to  simplify  it,  if  not 
settle  it,  by  her  devotion,  unselfishness,  and  un- 
remitting attentions. 

At  his  first  arrival  on  the  I4th  of  December, 
the  poet  had  taken  rooms  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Porte 
Verte  in  the  narrow  street  of  the  same  name.  He 
remained  there  barely  three  weeks,  and  on  the 
5th  of  January,  1852,  took  a  small  room  on  the 
first  floor  of  No.  27,  Grand'  Place.  It  was  "fur- 
nished with  a  black  horsehair  couch  convertible 
into  a  bed,  a  round  table  which  served  indiffer- 
ently for  work  and  for  relaxation,  and  an  old 
mirror  over  the  chimney  which  contained  the  pipe 
of  the  stove."  2 

self  in  L'histoire  d'un  Crime.  He  was  forced  to  go  into  hiding 
in  December  for  several  days,  and  subsequently  made  his  escape 
to  Brussels  in  the  disguise  of  a  workman.  Juliette  had  pre- 
ceded him  thither  to  prepare  a  safe  refuge  for  him. — Trans- 
lator's note. 

*  Charles  Hugo,  Lcs  Hommes  de  I'Exil,  p.  104. 

114 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Juliette  never  went  there,  but  we  learn  from 
the  poet's  complaints  to  her  that  the  couch  was 
too  short  for  a  man,  the  mattresses  hard  and  of- 
fensive to  the  olfactory  nerve ;  and  that  sleep  was 
difficult  to  obtain  on  account  of  the  noises  in  the 
street.  But  with  the  first  streak  of  dawn  outside 
the  lofty  window,  the  "great  fagade  of  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  entered  the  tiny  chamber  and  took  superb 
possession  of  it" ; 3  the  atmosphere  became  im- 
pregnated with  art  and  history.  The  poet's  fine 
imagination  and  ardor  for  work  did  the  rest. 
Hence  the  tone  of  his  letters  to  his  wife,  who  had 
remained  behind  in  France,  was  almost  joyous. 
It  was  full  of  masculine  courage.  Hence  also 
that  air  of  "simple  dignity  and  calm  resignation" 
which  characterized  his  bearing  in  exile,  "adding 
to  his  inherent  nobility  and  charm/'  and  drawing 
from  Juliette  the  enthusiastic  exclamation: 
"Would  that  I  were  you,  that  I  might  praise  you 
as  you  deserve !"  4 

Truth  to  tell,  she  merited  a  rich  share  of  the 
praise  herself.  The  little  comfort  Victor  Hugo 
was  able  to  enjoy,  and  the  moral  support  he 
needed  more  than  ever,  came  to  him  solely 
through  her. 

8  Charles  Hugo,  Les  Hommes  de  I'Exil. 
«May  i8th,  1852. 

"5 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

She  lodged  almost  next  door,  at  No.  10,  Pas- 
sage du  Prince,5  with  Madame  Luthereau,  a  friend 
of  her  youth,  married  to  a  political  pamphlet 
writer.  For  the  modest  sum  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  francs  a  month,  of  which  twenty-five  were 
paid  to  her  servant,  Juliette  obtained  food,  shelter, 
and  sincere  affection.  But  what  she  appreciated 
more  than  all  these  was  the  liberty  she  enjoyed  of 
superintending  from  afar  the  poet's  domestic  ar- 
rangements, and  preparing  under  the  shadow  of 
the  galleries,  the  dishes  and  sweetmeats  he  par- 
took of  in  the  publicity  of  the  Grand'  Place. 
Every  morning  at  eight  o'clock,  her  maid,  Su- 
zanne, conveyed  to  Victor  Hugo  a  pot  of  chocolate 
made  by  Juliette,  linen  freshly  ironed  and  mended, 
and  sometimes  even  the  modicum  of  coal  the  great 
man  either  forgot  or  did  not  trouble  to  order. 

When  Suzanne  had  swept  and  cleaned  the  room 
which  Charras,  Hetzel,  Lamoriciere,  Emile 
Deschanel,  Dr.  Yvan,  Schoelcher  and  sometimes 
Dumas  pere  daily  enlivened  with  their  wit  and  in- 
cidentally littered  with  the  ashes  from  their  pipes, 
she  returned  at  about  two  o'clock.  She  found 
her  mistress  busy  preparing  the  master's  luncheon 
— a  cutlet  generally,  which  Juliette  took  the 

5  This  passage  constitutes  the  portion  of  the  Galleries  of  St. 
Hubert  situated  at  right  angles  to  the  two  others  called  respec- 
tively, Passage  du  Roi  and  Passage  de  la  Reine. 

116 


JULIETTE   DROUET   WHEN    IX   JERSEY 


To  Victor  Hugo 

trouble  to  select  herself  in  order  to  make  certain 
that  the  butcher  cut  it  near  the  loin!  Suzanne 
started  off  again  bearing  the  cutlet,  the  bread,  the 
plates  and  dishes  and  even  the  cup  of  coffee! 
Obedient  to  her  mistress'  injunction,  she  hurried 
through  the  street,  for,  at  any  cost,  the  luncheon 
must  not  be  allowed  to  get  cold. 

When  Charles  Hugo  joined  his  father  in 
February,  1852,  it  might  be  supposed  that  Juliette 
would  relinquish  her  role  of  cordon  bleu,  but  noth- 
ing was  further  from  her  intention.  She  merely 
proceeded  to  supplement  the  daily  cutlet  with  a 
dish  of  scrambled  eggs  in  honor  of  the  young  man. 
Hugo  having  opened  the  necessary  credit,  she 
continued  the  task  she  had  undertaken,  and  pre- 
pared two  luncheons  instead  of  one.  Again, 
when  on  the  24th  of  May  Madame  Victor  Hugo 
came  for  the  second  time  to  visit  her  husband  in 
Brussels,  it  was  Juliette  who  undertook  to  cook  a 
little  feast  for  her.  In  the  agitation  caused  by 
such  a  high  honor,  she  forgot  to  add  an  extra 
fork.  She  worried  for  the  rest  of  the  day  over 
the  omission,  and  apologized  in  successive  letters 
to  the  poet,  in  the  terms  a  devote  might  employ 
to  confess  a  mortal  sin.6 

But   these   occupations   did   not   prevent   the 

6  24th  of  May,  1852. 

117 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

afternoons  from  hanging  heavy  on  her  hands. 
Victor  Hugo  spent  them  in  writing  Napoleon  le 
Petit;  or  he  organized  expeditions  to  Malines, 
Louvain,  Anvers,  with  friends;  or  he  yielded  to 
the  material  pleasures  of  Flemish  life,  and  ac- 
cepted invitations  to  dine  at  some  of  those  culi- 
nary institutes  on  which  Brussels  so  prides  her- 
self. 

But  none  of  these  resources  was  open  to 
Juliette.  Confined  within  the  four  walls  of  her 
narrow  chamber,  her  only  view  was  of  roofs  and 
a  dull  wall  pierced  by  a  single  dirty  window ;  she 
spent  whole  hours  watching  a  canary  in  its  cage, 
through  the  thick  panes.  She  likened  her  condi- 
tion to  that  of  the  tiny  captive.  At  other  times, 
she  allowed  her  thoughts  to  roam  among  past 
events,  and  brooded  over  the  packet  of  letters  so 
cruelly  sent  to  her  the  year  before.7  She  dwelt 
upon  the  grief  she  had  endured  for  many  months, 
the  choice  the  poet  had  finally  made  in  her  favor, 
and  their  joint  excursion  to  Fontainebleau  to  cele- 
brate the  reconciliation.  Under  the  depressing 

7  A  packet  of  Victor  Hugo's  love-letters  to  Madame   B 

was  treacherously  forwarded  to  her  by  the  lady  in  question. 
They  extended  over  a  period  of  seven  years,  1844  to  1851. 
Victor  Hugo  had  carried  on  his  secret  intrigue  with  Madame 
B while  he  was  daily  visiting  and  corresponding  with  Juli- 
ette. The  discovery  of  his  duplicity  almost  broke  her  heart. — 
Translator's  note. 

118 


To  Victor  Hugo 

influence  of  the  gray  Belgian  sky,  always  partially 
obscured  by  thick  smoke,  she  realized  that  her 
splendid  vitality  and  her  love  for  novelty  had  de- 
parted forever.  Then  she  allowed  jealousy  to  re- 
sume its  sway  over  her  more  powerfully  than 
ever. 

In  this  mood,  she  once  more  resolved  to  set 
Victor  Hugo  free:  "If  you  tell  me  to  go,"  she 
wrote  on  the  25th  of  January,  1852,  "I  will  do  so 
without  even  turning  my  head  to  look  at  you." 
But  again  he  bade  her  stay. 

Gravely,  then,  without  showing  any  symptom 
of  her  former  coyness,  she  proposed  to  discontinue 
her  letters. 

Fortunately,  at  this  very  juncture,  the  unwel- 
come attentions  of  the  Belgian  police,  who  were 
nervous  about  the  forthcoming  publication  of 
Napoleon  le  Petit,  had  decided  Victor  Hugo  to 
leave  Brussels  and  go  to  Jersey.  Juliette  was  to 
go  also,  either  in  the  steamer  with  him,  or  in  one 
starting  a  few  hours  later.  Naturally  he  urged 
her  to  go  on  writing,  if  only  to  bridge  over  the 
short  separation.  She  admits  that  when  she 
landed  at  St.  Helier,  on  the  6th  of  August,  1852, 
hope  had  once  more  gained  the  ascendant  within 
her  breast.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  was 
about  to  enjoy  the  society  of  her  "dear  little  exile," 

119 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

her  "sublime  outlaw"  all  by  herself,  far  from  the 
madding  crowd. 

I     Victor  Hugo  resided  at  first  in  a  hotel  at  St. 

/  Helier  called  La  Pomme  d'Or.     Later,  he  settled 

on  the  sea-front  at  Marine  Terrace,  Georgetown, 

in  an  enormous  house  which,  owing  to  its  square 

shape  and  skylights,  resembled  a  prison. 

Juliette  had  intended  to  put  up  at  the  Auberge 
du  Commerce,  but  for  twenty  years  she  had  never 
been  seated  at  a  table  d'hote  without  the  protec- 
tion of  the  poet.  The  proximity  of  tradespeople 
and  farmers  proved  insupportable  to  her.  On  the 
nth  of  August,  she  began  a  search  for  a  suitable 
boarding-house,  and  presently  concluded  a  bar- 
gain with  the  proprietress  of  Nelson  Hall,  Havre- 
des-Pas,  for  lodging  at  eight  shillings  a  week  and 
board  at  two  shillings  a  day.  This  made  a 
monthly  expenditure  of  about  a  hundred  and  fif- 
teen francs,  to  which  was  added  twenty-five 
francs,  the  wages  of  Suzanne,  her  maid. 

Like  Marine  Terrace,  Nelson  Hall's  chief  claim 
to  maritime  advantages  was  its  name.  At  Victor 
Hugo's  house  there  were  no  large  windows  over- 
looking the  sea,  and  in  Juliette's  groundfloor 
rooms  a  high  paling  screened  the  topmost  crest  of 

the  highest  wave. 

1 20 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Our  heroine  tried  to  console  herself  by  listening 
to  the  surge  of  the  ocean  and  copying  the  nearly 
completed  manuscript  of  I'Histoire  d'un  Crime, 
or  the  poems  the  poet  intended  to  add  to  the  vol- 
ume of  Les  Chatiments.  At  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber, she  moved  upstairs  to  a  large  room  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  house,  whence  a  wide  view  could 
be  had  of  the  barren  scenery  of  Havre-des-Pas, 
from  the  battery  of  Fort  Regent  on  the  right,  to 
the  rocks  of  St.  Clement  on  the  left ;  but  Juliette's 
peaceful  contemplation  was  constantly  disturbed 
by  the  violence  of  the  proprietress,  a  drunkard, 
who  was  renowned  all  over  the  island  for  the 
vigor  with  which  she  beat  her  husband  when  she 
was  tipsy. 

A  further  removal  was  therefore  decided  upon 
in  January,  1853,  an<^  carried  out  on  the  6th  of 
February.  Juliette  went  to  live  in  furnished 
apartments  next  door,  consisting,  as  in  Paris,  of 
a  bedroom,  drawing-room,  dining-room,  and 
kitchen  on  the  first  floor.  They  overlooked  a  vast 
stretch  of  sand  and  shingle,  rocks  and  seaweed. 

At  first,  Victor  Hugo  seldom  went  to  his 
friend's  house,  but  met  her  each  day  at  the  outset 
of  his  walk  and  took  her  with  him  along  roads 
where  the  magic  of  summer  glorified  every  blade 
of  grass.  From  end  to  end  of  the  island,  Dame 

121 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Nature  had  transformed  herself  into  a  garden 
where  all  was  perfumed,  gay  and  smiling. 
Juliette,  walking  arm  in  arm  with  her  lover,  could 
feel  the  glad  beating  of  his  heart;  her  upraised 
eyes  noted  that  his  dear  face  seemed  less  worried. 
With  the  ingenuity  of  a  twenty-year-old  sweet- 
heart, she  entertained  him  of  his  own  country  and 
invoked  memories  of  the  journeys  they  had  made 
together  in  former  days  to  the  Rhine,  the  Alps,  the 
Pyrenees.  The  exile  remembered,  not  the  rain, 
nor  the  omnibuses,  nor  the  thousand  trifles  re- 
called by  Juliette,  but  France  ...  his  own  beau- 
tiful France.  .  .  .  Under  the  influence  of  that 
voice  which  had  once  made  him  free  of  the  realm 
of  love,  his  country  was  restored  to  him  for  a 
fleeting  moment. 

The  lovers  were  unpleasantly  surprised  by  the 
week  of  tempests  which  ushered  in  the  equinox, 
and  was  followed  without  a  pause  by  the  setting 
in  of  winter.  "Everything  became  somber,  gray, 
violent,  terrible,  stormy,  severe."  Day  and  night 
rain  fell,  and  "the  drops  chased  each  other  down 
the  window  panes  like  silver  hairs."  8  Amidst 
the  uproar  to  which  frenzied  Nature  suddenly 
delivered  herself,  the  daily  tramps  were  perforce 

8  Victor   Hugo,    Correspondence,   letter   to    fimile   Deschanel, 
December  n,  1853. 

122 


To  Victor  Hugo 

discontinued.  Fortunately  for  Juliette,  Victor 
Hugo  found  Nelson  House  warmer  than  his  house 
at  Marine  Terrace.  His  wife  had  recently  joined 
him,  but  had  brought  with  her  neither  comfort 
nor  the  serene  atmosphere  propitious  for  an 
author's  labors.  As  in  the  old  days  of  the  Rue 
St.  Anastase  therefore,  he  set  up  a  writing-table 
near  the  fire  in  Juliette's  sitting-room,  with  a  few 
volumes  of  Michelet  and  Quinet,  and  a  novel  or 
two  by  Georges  Sand ;  and  every  day  after  lunch- 
ing with  his  own  family,  the  poet  came  to  work  in 
his  friend's  room.  Juliette  determined  to  "find 
the  way  back  to  his  heart  through  his  appetite," 
as  she  wrote  to  him ;  so  she  insisted  upon  his  din- 
ing with  her.  She  appealed  to  his  greediness  as 
well  as  to  his  hospitable  instincts,  assuring  him 
that  nowhere  else  could  he  so  successfully  enter- 
tain his  new  companions,  the  exiles,  as  at  her 
abode.  Soon  she  gave  two  "exile's  dinners"  a 
week,  then  three,  then  four;  finally,  she  had  one 
every  day. 

With  the  assistance  of  his  two  sons,  whom  he 
had  at  length  presented  to  Juliette,  Victor  Hugo 
presided  at  these  feasts  with  an  affability  partly 
born  of  a  desire  for  popularity.  Juliette  showed 
herself  more  reserved,  more  severe.  Accustomed 

8  23d  of  January,   1853. 

123 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  treat  the  poet  as  a  divinity,  she  could  not  toler- 
ate the  familiarity  of  these  petty  folk.  "A 
brotherly  cobbler  is  not  to  my  taste,"  she  said, 
Harshly.  "I  cannot  resign  myself  to  this  con- 
sorting of  vulgar  mediocrity  with  your  genius." 

Her  sweetness  to  the  two  sons  of  the  poet  was 
as  marked  as  the  haughtiness  of  her  manner  to- 
wards the  victims  of  the  Coup  d'etat.  For 
twenty  years  she  had  longed  to  be  friends  with 
them.  As  far  back  as  1839,  on  the  occasion  of  a 
distribution  of  prizes  at  which  Charles  and 
Frangois  Victor  were  to  cover  themselves  with 
honors  she  wrote:  "What  a  pity  I  cannot  wit- 
ness their  triumph!  I  love  them  with  all  my 
heart  and  would  give  my  life  for  them,  but  that 
is  not  enough.  I  will  avenge  myself  by  praying 
that  they  may  remain  always  as  they  are  at  pres- 
ent; charming  and  good." 

Later,  we  find  her  treasuring  their  portraits, 
anxious  about  their  childish  ailments,  pleading 
for  them  when  they  incurred  punishment,  and 
overwhelming  them  with  little  presents  manu- 
factured by  her  pen  or  needle,  whenever  she  re- 
ceived the  master's  sanction  to  do  so. 

What  joy  it  must  have  given  her  to  receive 
officially  at  her  table  these  children  grown  to  man- 
hood. As  soon  as  she  became  acquainted  with 

124 


VICTOR   HUGO   WHEN   IN   JERSEY 


To  Victor  Hugo 

them,  she  raised  the  young  men  to  the  level  of 
Victor  Hugo  in  the  order  of  her  preoccupations, 
and  resolved  to  do  nothing  for  the  father  in  the 
way  of  spoiling  and  cherishing,  that  she  did  not  do 
also  for  the  sons.  If  she  copied  Les  Contempla- 
tions, she  protested  that  she  must  also  write  out 
Francois  Victor's  translation  of  Shakespeare.  If 
she  sent  Suzanne  to  Marine  Terrace  with  an  herb 
soup  for  the  master,  she  bade  her  carry  six  lilac 
shirts  for  Charles. 

Even  young  Adele  and  Madame  Victor  Hugo 
accepted  her  good  offices  without  demur.  For 
Adele,  Juliette  picked  the  earliest  strawberries 
and  the  first  roses  of  the  Nelson  Hall  garden ;  she 
embroidered  handkerchiefs  on  which  Charles  had 
designed  the  monogram,  and  bound  together  the 
serial-stories  of  Madame  Sand  cut  from  maga- 
zines. For  Madame  Victor  Hugo,  she  prepared  a 
certain  soup  made  of  goose  which,  she  said,  was 
most  succulent.  She  lent  her  Suzanne,  her  own 
servant,  for  the  whole  time  Marine  Terrace  was 
without  a  cook,  and  meanwhile  went  without  a 
servant  herself,  and  did  her  own  cooking.  She 
spoilt  her  skin  and  wore  down  her  nails,  but  she 
took  a  pride  in  her  devotion  and  self-abnegation, 
and  resolved  to  carry  them  even  further.  She 
dreamt  of  entering  Victor  Hugo's  household  for 

125 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

good,  to  assume  in  all  humility  the  position  of  an 
ex-mistress  become  housekeeper. 

However  numerous  may  have  been  the  wrongs 
Victor  Hugo  inflicted  upon  this  woman  whose 
jealousy  he  never  ceased  to  excite,  one  must  ad- 
mit that  he  felt  and  appreciated  the  greatness  of 
her  love.  Like  a  great  many  men,  the  artist  in 
him  recognized  a  moral  worth  that  no  longer  sat- 
isfied his  needs  as  a  lover ;  he  experienced  gener- 
ous revulsions,  under  the  influence  of  which  he 
paid  her  carefully  studied  attentions,  which  bore 
a  semblance  of  impulse  and  spontaneity,  gratify- 
ing to  her  feelings. 

The  young  queen,  Victoria,  having  paid  France 
in  the  person  of  Napoleon  III  the  gracious  com- 
pliment of  a  visit  in  August,  1855,  the  exiles  of 
Jersey  dared  address  an  insolent  letter  to  her 
which  was  published  by  their  quaintly-named 
Journal  L'Homme.  True  to  his  native  chiv- 
alry, Victor  Hugo  declined  to  sign  this  mani- 
festo ; 10  but  he  was  indignant  when  the  authori- 
ties of  Jersey  marked  their  disapproval  by  expel- 
ling its  three  authors.  He  protested  vigorously 
against  their  punishment,  and  was  in  his  turn 
driven  from  the  island  on  the  3ist  of  August. 

10  It  was  signed  by  Felix  Pyat,  Rougee,  and  Jourdain. 

126 


To  Victor  Hugo 

He  went  to  Guernsey,  a  neighboring,  island, 
bleaker  and  less  temperate  in  climate.  He 
settled  at  first  at  No.  20,  Rue  Hauteville,  St. 
Pierre  Port.  On  the  i6th  of  May,  1856,  he 
bought  a  roomy,  substantial  house  built  on  the 
shore  at  some  former  period  by  an  English  pirate. 
It  only  required  restoration  to  make  it  a  suitable 
residence.  It  was  called  Hauteville  House. 

Here  again  Juliette  lived  successively  at  the  inn 
and  at  a  boarding-house  kept  by  a  Frenchwoman, 
Mademoiselle  Leboutellier.  But  when  she  found 
that  Victor  Hugo  could  no  longer  content  himself 
with  a  temporary  house,  and  intended  to  send  for 
the  furniture  and  art-collection  he  had  stored  at 
her  house  in  Paris,11  she  begged  him  to  include 
her  in  his  plans  and  let  her  have  her  own  things 
also.  She  was  tired  of  so-called  English  comfort, 
with  its  hard  beds,  narrow  sheets,  straight-backed 
chairs,  and  tiny  wardrobes. 

Victor  Hugo  gave  a  generous  assent  to  her 
request.  He  took  a  little  house  for  her,  called  La 
Pallue,  close  to,  and  overlooking  Hauteville 
House.  The  faithful  Suzanne  was  despatched  to 
France  to  pack  and  send  to  Guernsey  all  the  Hugo 
family's  and  Juliette's  possessions.  She  returned 

11  Victor  Hugo  had  disposed  of  the  bulk  of  his  furniture  in 
June,  1852,  but  he  had  stored  the  things  he  specially  valued  at 
Juliette's  apartment,  Cite  Rodier. 

127 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

on  the  9th  of  August.     The  furniture  and  art- 
collection  arrived  on  the  2Oth  of  the  same  month. 

A  busy  time  followed  for  the  lovers.  They 
threw  themselves  feverishly  into  the  excitements 
of  removal,  decoration,  and  treasure-hunting. 
Victor  Hugo  dropped  spiritualism  and  photog- 
raphy, which  had  been  his  recreations  in  Jersey, 
to  become  architect,  cabinet-maker  and  joiner. 
He  undertook  the  supervision  of  Juliette's  ar- 
rangements as  well  as  his  own,  bought  antique 
Norman  furniture  which  he  turned  to  various 
uses,  manufactured  carpets  and  curtains  out  of 
Juliette's  old  theater  frocks,  designed  panels  and 
mantelpieces  and  the  many  incongruous  articles 
which  now  decorate  the  Musee  Victor  Hugo,  and 
which  his  friend  aptly  called  "a  poetical  pot-pourri 
of  art." 

In  this  wise  the  fitting  up  of  the  two  houses 
lasted  over  a  considerable  period.  We  learn  from 
Juliette  that  the  poet  was  still  busy  with  his  din- 
ing-room on  the  2d  of  April,  1857,  and  on  the 
28th  of  May,  1858,  he  wrote  to  Georges  Sand: 
"My  house  is  still  only  a  shell.  The  worthy 
Guernseyites  have  taken  possession  of  it  and,  as- 
suming that  I  am  a  rich  man,  are  making  the  most 
of  the  French  gentleman,  and  spinning  out  the 
work." 

128 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Juliette,  whose  dwelling  was  more  modest,  had 
the  enjoyment  of  it  sooner.  She  settled  into  La 
Pallue  at  the  beginning  of  November,  1856,  and 
had  the  happiness  henceforth  of  seeing  her  friend 
many  times  a  day.  He  had  constructed  on  the 
roof  of  Hauteville  House  a  room  he  somewhat 
pretentiously  named  his  "crystal  drawing-room," 
and  that  we  should  call  a  belvedere ;  it  was  roofed 
and  covered  in  with  glass  on  all  sides.  His  bed- 
room opened  out  of  it. 

Every  morning  he  worked  there  at  a  flap  table 
affixed  to  the  wall,  when  the  cold  did  not  drive 
him  to  some  warmer  part  of  the  house.  Beneath 
his  gaze  spread  the  low  town,  the  port,  the  group 
of  Anglo-Norman  islands,  and  in  clear  weather, 
the  coast  of  Cotentin.  At  his  back  and  slightly 
higher  up  Juliette,  from  her  little  house,  watched 
and  kept  guard  over  him.  From  that  moment  it 
may  be  said  that  though  Juliette's  body  was  at 
La  Pallue,  her  heart  and  mind  inhabited  Haute- 
ville House. 

Unfortunately,  as  winter  progressed,  the 
storms  grew  worse  and  a  darkness  reigned  that 
made  reading  and  copying  difficult.  "Like  a 
great  lake  turned  upside  down"  the  sky  hung 
lowering  above  the  gloomy  houses  and  only  al- 
lowed the  pale  rays  of  a  leaden  sun  to  pierce 

129 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

through  it  at  infrequent  intervals.  The  rest  of 
the  time  the  atmosphere  remained  charged  with 
rheumatic-dealing  clamminess. 

Juliette,  just  entering  her  fiftieth  year,  bore 
the  rigors  of  the  climate  with  difficulty.  She 
would  have  died  of  it,  she  declared,  had  she  not 
been  upheld  by  the  influence  of  love.  She  was 
a  martyr  to  gout,  and  greatly  dreaded  being 
crippled  by  it. 

She  brooded  long  and  often  upon  death  and  the 
dead.  Whether  under  the  influence  of  a  priest, 
or  in  response  to  some  inward  prompting,  we  can- 
not tell,  but  she  reverted  for  a  time  to  her  former 
religious  practices. 


In  April,  1863,  when  Juliette  was  slowly  re- 
covering from  another  attack  of  gout,  Victor 
Hugo  realized  the  extreme  humidity  of  La  Pallue. 
On  the  advice  of  his  sons,  who  seem  to  have  been 
of  one  mind  with  him  on  the  subject,  he  decided 
that  Juju,  as  he  called  her,  should  move  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  that  he  should  for  the  second  time 
assume  the  functions  of  architect,  upholsterer  and 
decorator  of  her  new  dwelling. 

Juliette  offered  a  prolonged  and  strenuous  re- 
sistance to  the  plan,  for  the  house  chosen  for  her 

130 


To  Victor  Hugo 

possessed  the  grave  inconvenience  of  being  at 
some  distance  from  Hauteville  House.  The  idea 
that  she  would  no  longer  be  able  to  watch  every 
movement  of  her  lover  drew  from  our  heroine 
lamentations  and  loving  reproaches.  But  Vic- 
tor Hugo  was  adamant,  and  on  the  2d  of 
February,  1864,  the  anniversary  of  the  first  per- 
formance of  Lucrece  Borgia,  "Princesse 
Negroni"  took  up  her  abode  in  the  new  house, 
which  she  named  Hauteville  Feerie. 

There  again  the  poet  had  arranged  everything 
himself.  Remembering  Juliette's  attachment  for 
her  rooms  in  Rue  St.  Anastase,  he  had  endeavored 
to  reconstitute  faithfully  its  curtains  of  crimson 
and  gold,  its  peacocks  embroidered  on  panels,  its 
china,  the  porcelain  dragons  which  adorned  the 
dresser,  and  especially,  the  numerous  mirrors  that 
reflected  and  multiplied  the  furniture,  knick- 
knacks  and  embroideries. 

When  Juliette  was  shown  this  "marvel,"  she 
said  she  had  no  words  to  express  her  admiration 
and  gratitude.  Then,  knowing  how  often 
Madame  Victor  Hugo  was  away  on  the  Conti- 
nent, and  how  uncomfortable  the  poet  was  at 
home,  she  offered  to  act  in  turn  as  hostess  and 
house-keeper  for  him. 

In  1863,  we  find  her  assuming  Madame  Victor 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Hugo's  duties  during  the  short  absence  of  the 
latter,  and  at  the  end  of  1864,  during  a  further 
absence  which  lasted  until  February,  1867,  she 
divided  her  time  equally  between  Hauteville 
House  and  Hauteville  Feerie. 

But  there  is  a  difference  in  her  methods  of 
ruling  the  two  establishments.  At  Hauteville 
House  she  governs  without  obtruding  herself, 
wisely,  discreetly,  somewhat  mysteriously.  She 
directs  the  servants,  reproves  them  if  necessary, 
superintends  the  accounts,  and  keeps  down  ex- 
penses. But  she  carries  out  her  task  from  her 
place  in  the  background.  Officially  the  poet  lives 
alone  with  his  sons  and  his  sister-in-law,  Madame 
Julie  Chenay;  when  he  entertains  friends  from 
Paris,  Juliette's  name  is  not  mentioned. 

At  Hauteville  Feerie,  on  the  contrary,  our  hero- 
ine is  at  home.  It  behooves  her  to  comport  her- 
self as  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and  expend  her 
gifts  of  mind  as  well  as  her  talents  as  a  manager. 
As  she  says,  "she  must  be  both  lady  and  house- 
keeper." 

In  this  double  role  it  might  be  supposed  that 
she  would  be  reluctant  to  receive  the  exiles  pre- 
sented to  her  by  Victor  Hugo  whose  society  is  so 
distasteful  to  her.  Not  so;  once  more  Juliette 
accepts  through  duty  and  devotion  that  which  she 

132 


To  Victor  Hugo 

never  would  have  tolerated  on  her  own  account. 
The  poet  was  bored,  alas!  Though  he  was 
composing  splendid  poetry,  his  long  dialogue  with 
Mother  Nature  was  beginning  to  pall  upon  him. 
His  somewhat  theatrical  genius  demanded  more 
than  a  fine  stage ;  it  required  a  public.  Without 
it  the  author  of  Les  Chatiments  was  but  the 
shadow  of  the  poet  of  Ruy  Bias.  No  doubt  the 
bronzing  of  his  skin  by  the  salt  breath  of  the  sea 
and  the  virulence  of  his  spite  against  Napoleon 
III  lent  him  a  fictitious  appearance  of  spring  and 
vigor,  but  there  were  times  when  he  flagged  sadly, 
and  when  despondency  and  fatigue  expressed 
themselves  in  the  droop  of  his  lips,  the  sagging 
of  his  ill-shaved  cheeks,  the  wrinkles  on  his  brow, 
and  especially  the  heavy  pockets  beneath  his  eyes. 
His  attire  betrayed  his  complete  neglect  of  him- 
self. When  he  walked  through  the  Place  de 
Hauteville  in  his  Girondin  hat  all  battered  by  the 
wind,  his  cashmere  neckcloth  carelessly  knotted 
under  an  untidy  collar,  his  open  coat  revealing 
a  buttonless  shirt  in  summer  and  in  winter,  a 
faded  scarlet  waistcoat  which  Robespierre  him- 
self would  have  despised,  the  little  children  he  so 
loved  ran  from  him  as  if  he  were  accursed.12 

12  These  remarks  may  be  .verified  by  the  series  of  photographs 
of  the  poet  taken  by  his  sons  during  his  exile  and  preserved 
in  the  Musee  Victor  Hugo.  Some  of  the  snapshots,  as  we 

133 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Juliette  grasped  these  mute  warnings  and  as 
soon  as  she  was  established  in  the  vast  frame  of 
Hauteville  Feerie  she  attempted  to  reconstitute 
the  society  she  had  once  presided  over  at  Jersey. 
She  even  endeavored  to  enlarge  the  circle  and 
admit  a  few  newcomers. 

Juliette  was  able  to  maintain  the  simple  dig- 
nity to  which  she  attached  so  much  importance, 
and  from  which  she  departed  only  in  favor  of  her 
poet,  in  the  most  delicate  circumstance  of  her 
life :  namely,  when  Madame  Victor  Hugo  offered 
her  her  friendship.  She  did  not  decline  it,  but 
where  many  might  have  erred  by  an  excess  of 
satisfaction  and  familiarity,  she  showed  a  dis- 
creet reserve  greatly  to  her  credit.  Since  their 
exile  the  relations  of  the  two  women  had  under- 
gone a  great  change.  On  the  one  hand,  Madame 
Victor  Hugo's  perpetual  pursuit  of  pleasure,  her 
constant  fatigue,  her  laziness,  and  her  incapacity 
to  manage  a  house,  had  gradually  involved  her 
in  the  network  of  attentions,  civilities  and  petting 
Juliette  lavished  upon  her  and  hers.  The  reports 
brought  to  her  by  her  sons  and  servants  of  the 
doings  at  Hauteville  Feerie  had  given  her  a  good 
opinion  of  our  heroine ;  her  natural  kindliness  did 

should  call  them  nowadays,  are  an  indication  of  the  distress  of 
the  great  outlaw. 

134 


To  Victor  Hugo 

the  rest,  and  she  showed  herself  disposed  to  treat 
in  a  neighborly  and  even  friendly  fashion  one 
whom  she  might  justly  have  hated  as  a  rival. 

On  the  other  hand,  Juliette  no  longer  felt  that 
jealousy  of  the  mistress  against  the  legitimate 
wife,  that  she  had  experienced  at  the  beginning  of 
her  love-story.  But  actual  friendship  between 
Madame  Victor  Hugo  and  Juliette  was  hindered 
for  a  long  time  by  the  fear  of  English  criticism 
and  of  those  Guernseyites  of  whom  Victor  Hugo 
wrote  that  they  made  even  the  scenery  of  the 
island  look  prim.  Juliette  dreaded  the  unkind 
tittle-tattle  the  exiles  would  not  fail  to  retail  to 
her  if  she  accepted  the  advances  from  Hauteville 
House.  Therefore,  during  the  first  ten  years  at 
Guernsey  she  only  set  foot  in  her  friend's  house 
once,  in  1858,  to  inspect  the  treasures  the  master 
had  collected  in  it;  Madame  Victor  Hugo  was 
absent  that  day. 

At  the  end  of  1864,  the  wife  of  the  poet  became 
more  urgent  in  her  invitations.  She  was  about 
to  depart  to  the  Continent  to  undergo  treatment 
for  her  eyes;  her  absence  might  be,  and  indeed 
was,  indefinitely  prolonged.  However  careless 
she  might  be  in  housekeeping  matters,  she  was 
probably  loath  to  commit  her  husband  to  the  ten- 
der mercies  of  her  sister,  Madame  Julie  Chenay, 

135 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

who  boasted  of  possessing  neither  aptitude  for 
business  nor  a  head  for  figures.  She  saw  the  use 
that  might  be  made  of  the  poet's  friend,  and 
opened  negotiations  by  inviting  her  to  dinner. 
But  Juliette  declined.  This  policy  of  self-efface- 
ment was  continued  by  her  even  during  the  long 
absence  of  Madame  Victor  Hugo  in  1865  and 
1866.  When  Victor  Hugo  pressed  her  to  dine 
with  him,  in  secret  if  necessary,  she  wrote: 
"Permit  me  to  refuse  the  honor  you  offer  me,  for 
the  sake,  of  the  thirty  years  of  discretion  and 
respect  I  have  observed  towards  your  house." 

In  the  end,  however,  Madame  Victor  Hugo 
gained  the  day  and  overcame  this  dignified  ret- 
icence. On  her  return  to  Guernsey  on  the  I5th 
of  January,  1867,  she  declared  her  intention  of 
paying  Juliette  a  visit.  The  diplomatic  abilities 
of  the  poet  were  taxed  to  the  uttermost  in  the 
regulation  of  the  details  of  this  important  event. 
The  visit  took  place  on  the  22d  of  January.  It 
was  impossible  to  avoid  returning  it.  Juliette 
did  so  on  the  24th,  and  thenceforth  no  longer  hesi- 
tated to  cross  the  threshold  of  Hauteville  House. 
She  went  there  almost  every  day  to  revise  the 
manuscript  and  the  copies  of  Les  Miserables  with 
the  help  of  Madame  Chenay;  in  1868  she  spent 

136 


To  Victor  Hugo 

the  whole  month  of  May  under  its  roof  while  her 
faithful  Suzanne  was  in  France. 

Similarly  she  no  longer  minded  being  seen  in 
public  with  Victor  Hugo  and  his  sons  and  even 
his  wife  during  the  journeys  they  made  together. 
Whereas  in  1861,  for  instance,  on  a  journey  to 
Waterloo  and  Mont  St.  Jean  we  still  find  her 
dining  apart  and  seeming  to  ignore  Charles  Hugo, 
in  1867  she  is  constantly  at  the  latter's  house  in 
Brussels  attending  the  family  dinners  and  enjoy- 
ing the  charm  of  what  she  calls  "a  delicate  and 
discreet  rehabilitation"  by  Madame  Hugo  and  her 
daughter-in-law.  She  took  her  share  in  their 
joys  as  in  their  sorrows. 

It  was  at  Brussels  that  the  three  grand-children 
of  the  poet  were  born,  and  there  also  that  he  lost 
successively  in  April  and  August,  1868,  his  eldest 
grandchild  and  his  wife.  He  mourned  the  latter 
with  the  sorrow  of  a  man  from  whom  the  memory 
of  his  early  love  has  not  faded.  As  for  Juliette, 
her  regret  was  thoroughly  sincere.  ^She  did  not 
venture  to  attend  the  funeral,  in  deference  to  out- 
side gossip,  but  when  a  few  days  later  she  went 
to  the  house  and  saw  the  empty  armchair  Madame 
Victor  Hugo's  indulgent  personality  had  been 
wont  to  occupy,  she  could  not  restrain  her  tears. 

137 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Victor  Hugo  and  his  friend  returned  to  Guern- 
sey on  the  6th  of  October,  1868.  They  continued 
to  inhabit  separate  houses  and  dine  together  in 
one  or  the  other.  They  also  resumed  their  sea- 
side walks  and  their  long  talks  in  which  the  chief 
place  was  occupied  by  the  second  son  of  Charles 
Hugo,  an  infant,  who  had  been  left  behind  at 
Brussels. 

The  infirmities  of  increasing  age  occasionally 
prevented  our  heroine  from  following  her  inde- 
fatigable companion.  She  would  then  remain  at 
her  chimney  corner,  reading  the  Lives  of  the 
Saints  or  some  devotional  book.  She  was  more 
than  ever  prone  to  reflect  upon  death.  She  had 
been  greatly  shocked  by  the  rapidity  with  which 
Madame  Victor  Hugo  had  succumbed  and  she  felt 
that  her  turn  and  that  of  the  poet  must  soon  come. 
She  prayed  ardently  that  she  might  be  permitted 
to  go  first. 

In  August,  1869,  Victor  Hugo  took  Juliette 
with  him  first  to  Brussels  where  Charles  Hugo 
and  Paul  Meurice  joined  them  and  then  to  the 
Rhine,  which  held  so  many  sweet  memories  for 
both.  On  their  return  to  Guernsey  on  the  6th  of 
November,  he  proceeded  to  plan  a  journey  to  Italy 
for  the  following  winter.  He  also  made  arrange- 
ments for  the  revival  of  Lucrece  Borgia,  at  the 

138 


* 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Porte  St.  Martin.  The  journey  to  Italy  was 
never  carried  out,  but  on  the  2d  of  February, 
1870,  on  the  anniversary  of  its  first  performance, 
Lucrece  had  a  brilliant  success. 

The  old  poet  was  enchanted. 

Foreseeing  the  fall  of  the  Empire  and  guessing 
that  the  French  were  sick  of  a  regime  which 
during  the  last  eighteen  years  had  confused  gov- 
ernment with  spying,  and  politics  with  police,  he 
redoubled  the  activity  of  his  propaganda,  and  in- 
dited letter  after  letter,  manifesto  after  manifesto. 
The  more  Juliette  confessed  to  the  lassitude  of 
age,  the  more  he  seemed  to  defy  his  years. 


139 


CHAPTER  VII 

''THAT  WHICH  BRINGS  SATISFACTION  TO  THE 
HEART" 

^/VHEN  Victor  Hugo  grasped  the  full  extent 
of  the  national  disaster  in  August,  1870,  he 
started  immediately  for  Belgium.  On  the  proc- 
lamation of  the  republic  he  proceeded  to  the  fron- 
tier where  a  few  official  friends  awaited  him. 

The  scene  that  took  place  on  his  arrival,  though 
somewhat  theatrical,  was  yet  inspiring.  The 
"sublime  outlaw"  asked  for  the  bread  and  wine  of 
France.  After  he  had  eaten  and  drunk  he  begged 
Juliette  to  preserve  a  fragment  of  the  bread  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands  with  the  gesture  of 
one  who  is  dazzled  by  too  much  light.  Juliette 
relates  that  big  tears  flowed  through  his  clenched 
fingers.  The  bystanders  stood  in  silence,  awed 
by  his  emotion. 

The  poet  and  our  heroine  stayed  with  Paul 
Meurice  at  Avenue  Frochot  for  a  time,  and  then 
went  to  the  Hotel  du  Pavilion  de  Rohan.  Finally 
they  settled,  he  in  a  small  furnished  apartment  at 

140 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

66,  Rue  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  and  she,  close  by  in 
a  fairly  spacious  entresol  rented  at  fourteen  hun- 
dred francs,  at  55,  Rue  Pigalle. 

But  hardly  had  they  resumed  the  peaceful  tenor 
of  their  ways  when  they  were  forced  to  uproot 
again.  On  the  8th  of  February,  1871,  Victor 
Hugo  was  elected  a  member  of  the  Assemblee 
Nationale,  and  as  he  could  not  bear  to  be  parted 
any  longer  from  his  grandchildren,  he  removed 
his  whole  household  to  Bordeaux,  including  his 
son  Charles,  his  mistress  Juliette,  and  the  little 
heroes  of  L'Art  d'etre  Grandpere.  They  started 
on  the  1 3th  of  February  and  the  poet  took  his 
seat  on  the  I5th.  On  the  8th  of  March  he  felt 
it  his  duty  to  resign,  on  account  of  the  refusal 
of  his  colleagues  to  allow  Garibaldi  to  be  natural- 
ized a  Frenchman.  He  was  about  to  leave  when 
a  fresh  sorrow  struck  him  down:  this  was  the 
sudden  death  of  Charles  Hugo  on  the  I3th  of 
March. 

The  body  of  the  unfortunate  and  charming 
young  man  was  taken  back  to  Paris  and  the 
funeral  took  place  on  the  i8th  in  the  sinister 
scenario  of  the  rising  insurrection.  On  the  2ist, 
Victor  Hugo  went  to  Belgium  to  make  arrange- 
ments for  his  grandchildren's  future.  Two 
months  and  a  half  later  he  was  expelled  from 

141 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Brussels  for  rewarding  its  hospitality  by  throw- 
ing his  house  open  as  a  refuge  to  the  political 
miscreants  who  had  just  fired  Paris  and  shed  the 
blood  of  their  compatriots.  He  was  the  object 
of  a  violently  hostile  demonstration  on  May  27th, 
1871,  and  afterwards  received  the  decree  of  ex- 
pulsion. He  went  to  Vianden  in  the  Grand 
Duchy  of  Luxembourg  and  returned  definitely  to 
Paris  in  September,  1871.  Juliette  had  accom- 
panied him  everywhere. 

No  sooner  was  the  luggage  unpacked  than  she 
bravely  undertook  to  amuse  him  by  forming  a 
small  circle  of  his  friends  and  admirers  in  her 
drawing-room  at  Rue  Pigalle.  But  the  under- 
taking was  beyond  her  powers.  Her  long  so- 
journ in  a  solitary  island  and  her  complete  ab- 
sorption in  one  sole  object  had  resulted  in  the 
loss  of  what  might  be  termed  her  social  talent. 
In  France  and  especially  in  Paris,  everything  was 
new  to  her,  everything  agitated  her. 

The  state  of  her  health  was  not  such  as  to  re- 
store her  equanimity.  She  suffered  from  gout 
and  heart  disease,  was  growing  stout,  walked 
with  difficulty,  slept  badly,  and  was  terribly 
weary.  "I  am  so  tired,"  she  writes,  "that  I  feel 
as  if  even  eternity  would  fail  to  rest  me." 

Victor  Hugo  therefore  gave  up  the  entertain- 
142 


To  Victor  Hugo 

ments  at  Rue  Pigalle;  the  boxes  were  re-packed 
and  on  the  I4th  of  August,  1872,  the  party  re- 
turned to  that  island  where  everything  spoke  to 
the  exile  of  former  joys,  from  the  anemones  he 
loved,  to  the  cherry-tree  he  had  planted  himself. 

In  the  mornings  at  half-past  eleven,  Victor 
Hugo  used  to  make  his  joyous  appearance  at 
Hauteville  Feerie  and  escort  his  friend  to  Haute- 
ville  House,  where  the  luncheon  table  was  proudly 
attended  by  Georges  and  Jeanne.  In  the  after- 
noon a  family  drive  was  organized.  The  largest 
carriage  on  the  island  was  hardly  big  enough  to 
contain  the  dear  beings  by  whom  he  loved  to  be 
surrounded.  The  hours  drifted  peacefully  to- 
wards dusk. 

While  our  heroine  lived  on  future  hopes  and 
past  memories,  Victor  Hugo  enjoyed  the  present 
more  than  ever.  Everyone  knows  of  his  gal- 
lantry and  the  bold  front  he  offered  to  advancing 
age.  Amongst  other  comforting  illusions,  he  chose 
to  believe  that  women  prefer  old  men  and  he 
gloried  in  proving  his  theory.  With  more  sense 
than  she  has  been  credited  with,  Juliette  some- 
times managed  to  close  her  eyes  and  ears,  or  else 
she  gently  rallied  him,  congratulating  him  on  the 
success  of  his  most  recent  exploit.  But  more 
often  it  must  be  admitted  that  her  temper  was 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

not  equal  to  the  nobility  of  her  nature.  To  jeal- 
ousy was  presently  added  the  pain  of  humiliation 
and  offended  dignity,  caused  by  a  vulgar  intrigue 
conducted  under  her  very  eyes,  at  her  own  fire- 
side. 

At  last,  at  the  end  of  the  visit  to  Guernsey 
which  had  turned  out  so  differently  from  her  ex- 
pectations, Juliette  came  to  a  grave  decision. 
She  resolved  to  abandon  the  field  to  the  frail 
beauties  whom  chance,  desire,  or  self-interest 
gathered  around  her  poet,  and  to  retire  to  live  at 
Brest  with  her  sister,  or  at  Brussels  with  her 
friends  the  Luthereau. 

Having  borrowed  two  hundred  francs  from 
someone,  Juliette  actually  started  on  the  23d  of 
September,  1873,  without  leaving  the  smallest 
note  of  farewell  for  Victor  Hugo.  But  he  lost 
no  time  in  despatching  a  letter  of  recall,  and  he 
couched  it  in  terms  so  eloquent  and  so  pathetic 
that  once  more  the  poor  woman  was  fain  to  over- 
look the  past.  She  returned  to  the  Rue  Pigalle  on 
the  27th  of  September.  She  subsequently  wrote 
to  the  kind  hosts  with  whom  she  had  taken  ref- 
uge :  "I  have  been  very  foolish,  very  cruel,  very 
stupid,  but  I  am  rewarded.  If  one  could  hope  for 
a  second  resurrection  like  this,  one  might  be  al- 
most tempted  to  go  through  it  all  again." 

144 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Shortly  after  Juliette's  act  of  defiance,  her 
friend  imposed  the  fatigue  of  a  new  removal  upon 
her.  The  author  of  L'Art  d'etre  Grandpere  had 
just  lost  his  son,  Frangois  Victor.  More  than 
ever  he  turned  to  his  little  grandchildren  for  con- 
solation, and  at  the  end  of  1873  he  decided  to  join 
households  with  them  and  their  mother.  For  a 
rental  of  six  thousand  francs  a  year  he  took  two 
apartments,  one  above  the  other,  at  21,  Rue  de 
Crichy.  On  the  28th  of  April,  1874,  Juliette  took 
possession  of  the  third  floor  with  her  maid,  while 
Madame  Charles  Hugo,  her  children,  and  the  poet 
settled  in  the  fourth. 

The  receptions  and  dinners  began  again  almost 
at  once.  At  first  they  were  weekly,  then  bi- 
weekly and  finally  daily.  The  table  was  large  and 
well  attended.  In  addition  to  the  five  people 
forming  the  family  party,  including  Juliette,  there 
were  rarely  fewer  than  seven  guests.  Our  hero- 
ine, in  her  capacity  of  chief  steward,  usually 
provided  for  twelve.  She  liked  the  fare  to  be 
simple  and  substantial.  Sole  Normande,  Cotel- 
ettes  Soubise,  and  Poulets  au  Cresson  were  the 
chief  items  of  the  repast. 

Housekeeping  on  this  scale  demanded  a  staff 
of  competent  servants.  Juliette  had  five  for 
whom  she  was  responsible.  She  superintended 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

their  expenditure,  their  purchases,  and  the  use 
to  which  they  put  the  provisions ;  she  commended 
good  work  and  reproved  faults,  and  in  fact  ful- 
filled the  functions  of  a  majordomo  in  a  situation 
where  the  daily  expenditure  exceeded  four  pounds 
for  food  and  approximated  two  pounds  for  wines 
and  spirits.  She  also  had  to  supervise  the  depart- 
ment of  the  invitations,  draw  up  lists  and  sort  the 
guests  of  each  day  so  as  to  temper  the  solemnity 
of  a  Schoelcher  or  a  Renan  with  the  wit  and  froth 
of  a  Flaubert  or  a  Monselet.  Juliette  assumed 
this  charge,  submitted  the  names  to  Victor  Hugo, 
wrote  the  letters,  opened  the  answers,  and  classi- 
fied them.  If  anybody  failed  at  the  last  moment, 
she  telegraphed  to  someone  of  those  on  the  "sub- 
sidiary list"  as  she  called  it,  and  only  ceased  her 
efforts  when  she  was  assured  of  being  able  to 
offer  to  the  gratified  master  a  full  table  and  a 
numerous  and  docile  court. 

She  was  now  at  the  head  of  that  court,  but  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  it  was  by  her  own  de- 
sire. On  the  contrary  she  practiced  the  most 
severe  self-effacement.  Clad  in  black,  wearing  as 
her  only  jewel  a  cameo  set  in  gold,  representing 
Madame  Victor  Hugo,  and  bequeathed  to  her  in 
the  latter's  will,  she  usually  sat  at  the  chimney 
corner  in  a  large  arm-chair.  Fatigued  by  her 

146 


\ 


To  Victor  Hugo 

laborious  preparations,  it  frequently  happened 
that  she  fell  asleep  in  the  drawing-room,  as 
Madame  Victor  Hugo  had  been  wont  to  do.  This 
lapse  of  manners  so  covered  her  with  confusion 
that  she  made  a  vow  either  to  bring  her  health 
up  to  the  level  of  her  devotion  or  else  to  disappear 
from  view.  She  did  in  fact  redouble  her  activi- 
ties to  an  extent  astonishing  in  a  septuagenarian. 
She  undertook  to  follow  the  aged  poet  whenever 
he  mingled  with  crowds.  At  Quinet's  and 
Frederic  Lemaitre's  funerals  she  was  present  in 
the  throng,  an  infirm  old  woman  watching  from 
a  distance  over  a  Victor  Hugo  upright  as  a  dart 
and  full  of  vitality.  Did  he  wish  to  make  an 
ascent  in  a  balloon,  she  was  there;  when  he  con- 
ducted a  rehearsal  or  read  one  of  his  early  dramas 
to  his  modern  interpreters,  it  was  she  who  led  the 
applause,  declared  that  the  voice  of  Olympic  had 
retained  all  its  strength  and  beauty,  and  that  he 
had  never  read  better. 

In  the  period  between  1874  and  1878  it  must 
be  conceded  that  Victor  Hugo  did  his  best  to  se- 
cure to  his  friend  a  greater  degree  of  mental  tran- 
quillity than  she  had  ever  enjoyed  before.  He 
was  careful  to  conceal  his  infidelities  from  her, 
and  often  succeeded  in  averting  scenes  and  re- 
proaches ;  or,  if  denial  seemed  impossible,  he  tried 

147 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  palliate  his  fault  and  gain  indulgence  by  ad- 
dressing to  her  one  of  those  poetical  odes  in  which 
he  excelled,  and  from  which  she  derived  such 
pride  and  joy. 

But  these  were  only  passing  revivals  of  youth- 
ful emotion  in  the  poet  as  well  as  in  his  friend. 
They  resemble  those  bonfires  of  dead  leaves, 
lighted  by  laborers  in  autumn  on  the  summit  of 
bare  hills — their  flame  can  ill  withstand  the  slight- 
est puff  of  wind.  Such  a  puff  blew  upon  the  old 
couple  in  the  course  of  the  year  1878. 

Juliette  was  greatly  troubled  about  the  state  of 
her  health.  She  wrote  to  the  poet,  on  January 
8th:  "I  feel  that  everything  is  going  from  me 
and  crumbling  in  my  grasp;  my  sight,  my  mem- 
ory, my  strength,  my  courage." 

On  the  28th  of  June  of  the  same  year,  at  one  of 
those  copious  banquets  to  which  he  still  did  full 
justice,  and  in  the  midst  of  an  argument  with 
Louis  Blanc  concerning  Voltaire  and  Rousseau, 
Victor  Hugo  had  a  cerebral  attack  which  alarmed 
his  friends  exceedingly.  His  speech  faltered,  he 
gesticulated  feebly.  Two  doctors  summoned  in 
haste  failed  to  give  reassurance,  and  prescribed 
absolute  rest  in  the  country.  On  the  4th  of  July, 
the  poet  was  escorted  to  Guernsey  by  a  large 

148 


To  Victor  Hugo 

retinue  consisting  of  his  grandchildren,  the 
Meurice  family,  Juliette,  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Lockroy,  Richard  Lesclide,  and  another  friend, 
Pelleport.  But  no  sooner  had  they  reached  the 
island,  than  Victor  Hugo  began  to  show  symp- 
toms of  agitation.  It  could  not  be  on  account  of 
his  illness,  for  he  was  living  quietly  and  comfort- 
ably, rejoicing  at  the  amusement  the  season  af- 
forded his  friends,  and  taking  his  own  share  of 
it.  But  according  to  the  testimony  of  one  who 
has  published  a  book  concerning  the  master  as 
witty  as  it  is  frank,1  the  reason  was,  that  he  had 
left  behind  him  in  Paris  the  heroines  of  several 
intrigues;  amongst  others,  the  young  person 
whose  behavior  had  occasioned  Juliette's  fit  of 
anger  and  departure  for  Brest,2  and  he  was 
anxious  lest  the  post  should  convey  to  Guernsey 
the  forlorn  cooings  of  the  deserted  doves,  and 
that  some  echo  of  them  should  reach  Juliette. 

Our  heroine  was  certainly  informed  of  some  of 
the  circumstances,  for  on  the  2Oth  of  August, 
1878,  while  still  at  Guernsey,  she  wrote  the  old 
man  a  letter  which  is  a  revelation  of  the  changed 

1  Victor  Hugo  Intime.    By  Madame  Juana  Lesclide. 

2  A  young  girl   in  bad  circumstances,  to   whom  Juliette   had 
given  shelter  under  her  own  roof,  and  who  thus  requited  the 
charity  of  her  benefactress. — Translator's  note. 

149 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

character  of  their  intercourse.  Victor  Hugo  an- 
swered somewhat  crossly  and  contemptuously  and 
nicknamed  Juliette  "the  schoolmistress." 

On  his  return  to  Paris  on  the  loth  of  Novem- 
ber he  consented  to  remove  to  the  little  house  at 
Avenue  d'Eylau,  where  he  ended  his  days,  and 
which  was  then  almost  in  the  country.  Juliette 
took  the  first  floor  and  he  occupied  the  second. 
But  presently  she  arranged  to  spend  the  nights  in 
a  spare  room  next  to  his,  so  that  she  might  be  at 
hand  to  attend  upon  him  if  necessary. 

From  that  moment  it  may  be  said  that  her  life 
declined  into  uninterrupted  sadness  and  servitude. 
She  was  suffering  from  an  internal  cancer  and 
knew  that  she  was  condemned  to  die  of  slow  star- 
vation !  Nevertheless,  she  played  her  part  of  sick 
nurse  with  a  devotion  and  a  minute  attention  to 
detail  to  which  all  witnesses  tender  their  homage. 
She  it  was  who  entered  the  poet's  chamber  each 
morning  and  woke  him  with  a  kiss ;  she  who  put 
a  match  to  the  fire  ready  laid  on  the  hearth,  and 
prepared  the  eggs  for  his  breakfast;  she  who 
waited  on  the  old  man  while  he  ate,  opened  his 
letters,  made  extracts  from  them  when  necessary, 
and  answered  the  most  important.  It  was  she 
again  who  undertook  to  keep  her  beloved  friend 
company  until  mid-day,  and  to  amuse  him,  and  ac- 

150 


JULIETTE   DROUET   IN    1883 
From  the  picture  by  Bastien-Lepage. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

quaint  him  with  the  current  political  and  literary 
news. 

The  task  was  heavy  enough  to  weary  a  much 
younger  brain.  Juliette  found  it  almost  beyond 
her  strength.  In  1880,  she  was  so  overwrought 
that  she  had  become  nervous,  irritable  and  rest- 
less. At  night,  when  her  offices  of  reader  and 
sick  nurse  were  over,  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
she  was  able  to  sleep.  From  her  bed  in  the  ad- 
joining room,  with  eyes  fixed  and  ears  attentive, 
she  watched  the  slumber  of  her  dear  neighbor 
under  the  great  Renaissance  baldachino  with  its 
crimson  damask  curtains.  Did  he  cough,  she 
rose  hurriedly  and  administered  a  soothing  drink ; 
but  if  she  coughed  herself  and  thus  ran  the  risk 
of  awaking  him,  she  was  furious,  longed  for  a 
gag,  and  tried  to  suppress  the  laboring  of  her  suf- 
fering breast ;  she  cursed  the  years  that  had  made 
her  love  a  burden  to  its  object,  and  chid  her  body 
for  a  bad  servant  no  longer  subservient  to  her 
will. 

Severe  as  were  the  physical  sufferings  she  bore 
so  patiently  under  the  shadow  of  the  night,  Juli- 
ette preferred  them  to  the  sadness  she  endured 
during  the  long,  solitary  afternoons,  while  her 
former  companion  was  at  the  senate,  at  the 
Academic  or  elsewhere. 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

We  must  picture  her  at  that  period,  not  as 
Theodore  de  Banville  represents  her  in  his  formal 
description,  but  as  Bastien  Lepage  painted  her 
with  more  truth  about  the  same  time.  Disease 
has  made  cruel  inroads  on  the  grave,  serene,  once 
goddess-like  features.  Her  poor  countenance  is 
worn  and  wasted,  covered  with  a  fine  network  of 
wrinkles,  each  one  of  which  tells  its  tale  of  suffer- 
ing. Her  hair,  whose  sheen  was  formerly  likened 
by  poets  to  the  satin  petals  of  a  lily,  and  which 
once  fell  naturally  into  crown-like  waves,  is 
roughened  and  harsh,  and  has  assumed  that  yel- 
lowish tinge  which  so  often  presages  death.  Her 
lips,  no  longer  revived  by  kisses,  are  pale,  her  eyes 
heavy  and  anguished,  her  smile  faded. 

Seated  by  the  fire  in  winter,  and  at  the  open 
window  overlooking  the  Avenue  d'Eylau  in  sum- 
mer, she  who  was  the  "Princesse  Negroni"  now 
presents  the  woeful  appearance  of  a  grandmother 
without  grandchildren. 

Sometimes  she  tries  to  pray.  She  calls  death 
to  her  aid,  she  complains  of  the  slowness  with 
which  the  bonds  of  the  soul  loose  those  of  the 
body. 

In  September,  1882,  she  made  a  short  journey 
with  Victor  Hugo  to  Veules,  to  stay  with  Paul 
Meurice,  and  to  Villequier,  to  stay  with  Auguste 

152 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Vacquerie.  She  took  to  her  bed  immediately  on 
her  return.  By  a  great  effort  of  will,  she  got  up 
once  more  to  attend  the  revival  of  Le  Roi  s' Amuse 
on  the  25th  of  November;  then  she  finally  re- 
turned to  her  chamber  and  never  left  it  again. 

Neither  her  body  nor  her  mind  was  capable  of 
assimilating  nourishment.  She  waved  happy 
memories  aside. 

Every  afternoon  the  old  poet  paid  her  a  visit. 
He  disliked  any  mention  of  death,  and  could  not 
bear  the  sight  of  suffering.  If  we  are  to  believe 
Juliette,  he  had  made  a  rule  that  everyone  must 
forswear  melancholy  and  shake  off  sad  thoughts 
before  appearing  in  his  presence.  Docile  as  ever, 
the  sick  woman  endeavored  to  smile  when  he  en- 
tered her  room.  She  listened  submissively  to  the 
arguments  by  which  he  sought  to  persuade  her 
that  she  did  not  really  suffer,  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  suffering.  Up  till  the  nth  of  May, 
1883,  the  very  day  of  her  death,  there  remained 
thus  about  one  hour  of  the  day  during  which  she 
still  had  to  play  her  part,  restrain  her  moans,  and 
look  cheerful.  She  did  it  to  the  best  of  her 
power,  and  doubtless,  in  the  triumph  of  that  daily 
victory  gained  over  her  torture  by  her  indomitable 
spirit,  she  found  at  last  the  answer  that  the  poet 
should  have,  put  into  the  mouth  of  Maffio — she 

153 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

discovered  that  "That  which  brings  satisfaction 
tojhe  heart"  is  neither  desire,  nor  caresses,  nor 
even  love:  it  is  self-sacrifice.3 

3  Juliette  Drouet  was  buried  on  the  I2th  of  May,  1883,  in  the 
cemetery  of  St.  Mande  near  her  daughter  Claire,  under  a  marble 
stone  she  had  selected  herself  in  1881.  Her  funeral  was  at- 
tended by  a  large  body  of  journalists.  The  speech  was  delivered 
by  Auguste  Vacquerie.  According  to  a  letter  she  wrote  to 
Victor  Hugo  on  the  ist  of  November,  1881,  she  wished  for  an 
epitaph  taken  from  one  of  the  "sublime  poems"  he  had  addressed 
to  her.  Her  desire  was  not  gratified;  the  tomb  does  not  even 
bear  the  name  of  our  heroine. 


154 


PART  II 
LETTERS 


THE  LOVE  LETTERS  OF  JULIETTE 
DROUET  TO  VICTOR  HUGO 


Sunday,  8.30  p.  m. 
BEFORE  beginning  to  copy  or  count  words,1 
I  must  write  you  one  line  of  love,  my  dear  little 
lunatic.  I  love  you  —  do  you  understand,  I  love 
you!  This  is  a  profession  of  faith  which  com- 
prises all  my  duty  and  integrity.  I  love  you, 
ergo,  I  am  faithful  to  you,  I  see  only  you,  think 
only  of  you,  speak  only  to  you,  touch  only  you, 
breathe  you,  desire  you,  dream  of  you  ;  in  a  word, 
I  love  you  !  that  means  everything. 

Do  not  therefore  give  way  any  more  to  melan- 
choly ;  permit  yourself  to  be  loved  and  to  be  happy. 
Fear  nothing  from  me,  never  doubt  me,  and  we 
shall  be  blissful  beyond  words. 

I  am  expecting  you  shortly,  and  am  ready  with 
warm  and  tender  caresses  which  I  hope  will  cheer 
you.  Your  Juju. 


oINCE  you  left  me  I  carry  death  in  my  heart. 
If  you  go  to  the  ball  to-night  it  must  be  at  the 

1  Juliette  Drouet  occasionally  acted  as  the  poet's  secretary. 

157 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

cost  of  a  definite  rupture  between  us.  The  pain 
I  suffer  at  imagining  you  moving  among  that 
throng  of  fascinating,  careless  women,  is  too 
great  for  you  to  be  able  to  inflict  it  without  incur- 
ring guilt  towards  me.  Write  to  me  "care  of 
Madame  K — ."  If  I  do  not  hear  from  you  be- 
fore midnight  I  shall  understand  that  you  care 
very  little  for  me  ...  that  all  is  over  between 
us  .  .  and  forever. 


Wednesday,  2.30  p.m.  (1833). 
I  CANNOT  refrain,  dearly  beloved,  from  com- 
menting upon  the  profound  melancholy  you  were 
in  this  morning,  and  upon  the  doubt  you  manifest 
on  every  occasion,  as  to  the  sincerity  of  my  love. 
This  unjustifiable  suspicion  on  your  part  dis- 
heartens me  beyond  all  expression.  It  intimi- 
dates me  and  makes  me  fear  to  confide  to  you  the 
incidents  my  dubious  position  exposes  me  to. 
To-day,  for  instance,  I  concealed  from  you  the 
visit  of  a  creditor  who  presented  himself  to  the 
porter  but  was  not  shown  up.  I  paid  him  out  of 
my  own  resources  without  your  knowledge,  be- 
cause you  are  always  telling  me  /  do  not  love  you. 
This  expression  from  you  makes  me  feel  that  you 
hold  a  shameful  opinion  of  me  and  my  character, 

158 


To  Victor  Hugo 

rendered  possible  perhaps  by  my  situation,  but 
none  the  less,  false,  unjust  and  cruel. 

I  love  you  because  I  love  you,  because  it  would 
be  impossible  for  me  not  to  love  you.  I  love  you 
without  question,  without  calculation,  without 
reason  good  or  bad,  faithfully,  with  all  my  heart 
and  soul,  and  every  faculty.  Believe  it,  for  it  is 
true.  If  you  cannot  believe,  I  being  at  your  side, 
I  will  make  a  drastic  effort  to  force  you  to  do  so. 
I  shall  have  the  mournful  satisfaction  of  sacri- 
ficing myself  utterly  to  a  distrust  as  absurd  as  it 
is  unfounded. 

Meanwhile  I  ask  your  pardon  for  the  guilty 
thought  that  came  to  me  this  morning,  and  which 
may  possibly  recur  if  you  continue  to  see  in  my 
love  only  a  meanspirited  compliance  and  an  un- 
worthy speculation.  This  letter  is  very  lengthy 
and  very  sad  to  write.  I  trust  with  all  my  soul 
that  I  may  never  have  to  reiterate  its  sentiments. 

I  love  you.  Indeed  I  love  you.  Believe  in  me. 

JULIETTE. 

Wednesday,  8.15  p.  m.  (1833). 

HERE  is  a  second  letter.  Forgive  my  episto- 
lary extravagance.  Honestly,  I  imagine  you  must 
soon  tire,  to  put  it  as  mildly  as  possible,  of  this 
superabundance  of  letters. 

159 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

The  reason  of  my  writing  again  is  no  novel 
one;  it  is  merely  to  repeat  that  I  love  you  every 
day  and  every  instant  more  and  more ;  that  I  feel 
convinced  you  are  only  too  eager  to  return  my 
sentiments,  but  that  between  your  desire  and  your 
capacity  there  stands  a  wall  a  hundred  feet  high, 
entitled  "suspicion."  Suspicion  leads  to  con- 
tempt, and  when  that  exists  no  true  love  is  pos- 
sible. There  is  no  answer  to  what  I  have  just 
stated.  I  feel  it  and  am  crushed  by  my  sorrow. 
I  know  not  what  to  do,  where  to  go,  what  plans  to 
make.  I  can  only  suffer,  just  as  I  can  only  love 
you.  JULIETTE. 

If  ever  this  letter  is  found,  it  will  be  seen  that 
my  love  was  insufficient  in  your  eyes  to  atone  for 
my  past. 

2  a.m.  (1833). 

JVlY  VICTOR: 

I  love  you  truly  and  neither  know  nor  can  con- 
ceive any  personality  more  deserving  of  devotion 
than  yourself. 

I  look  up  to  you  as  a  faithful,  reliable  friend, 
as  the  noblest  and  most  estimable  of  men. 

It  hurts  me  to  feel  that  my  past  life  must  be  an 
obstacle  to  your  confidence.  Before  I  cared  for 
you,  I  felt  no  shame  for  it,  I  made  no  attempt  to 

160 


To  Victor  Hugo 

conceal  or  alter  it;  but  since  I  have  known  you, 
this  attitude  of  mind  has  changed  in  every  re- 
spect. I  blush  for  myself  and  dread  lest  my  love 
have  not  the  strength  to  erase  the  stains  of  the 
past.  I  fear  it  even  more  when  you  suspect  me 
unjustly. 

My  Victor,  it  is  for  your  love  to  sanctify  me, 
for  your  esteem  to  renew  in  me  all  that  once  was 
good  and  pure. 

I  care  for  you  so  much  that  all  this  is  possible. 
I  will  become  worthy  of  you  if  you  will  only  help 
me. 

Farewell.  You  are  my  soul,  my  life,  my  re- 
ligion ;  I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

Your  appreciation  of  my  letters  is  one  of  the 
best  proofs  of  love  you  have  yet  given  me.  I  will 
set  to  work  to  reconstruct  them.  Nothing  has 
happened  since  you  left  me  yesterday  except  that 
my  love  for  you  has  increased. 


J3EFORE  reading  this  letter  look  upon  me  once 
more  with  affection. 

My  poor  friend,  I  am  about  to  grieve  and  sur- 
prise you  greatly.  Yet  it  has  to  be  done.  I  no 
longer  have  the  courage  to  bear  up  against  your 
unjust  and  suspicious  jealousy  and  your  continued 

161 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

mistrust  of  a  sentiment  as  pure  and  true  as  that 
one  cherishes  towards  God.  They  wear  me  out 
and  make  me  wretched  to  the  last  degree.  I 
would  rather  leave  you  than  expose  myself  to 
fresh  grief  which  might  end  in  destroying  either 
my  reason  or  my  love.  This  resolve  is  dictated 
by  the  excess  of  my  affection.  Even  if  you 
suffer,  forgive  me  and  bless  me  before  you  leave 
me  forever.  I  love  you.  J. 


SlNCE  you  insist  upon  a  denial  of  offenses  which 
exist  only  in  your  imagination,  I  owe  it  to  you 
to  make  it  comprehensive  and  without  restriction. 
It  is  not  true  that  I  have  tried  to  offend  you  by 
reproaches  unworthy  of  yourself  and  of  me.  It 
is  not  true  that  I  have  ever  held  any  opinion  of 
you  but  this  one,  that  I  esteem  you  above  all  men. 

The  real  and  irrevocable  cause  of  our  estrange- 
ment is  the  certainty  that  your  love  for  me  is  in- 
complete. I  am  more  persuaded  of  it  every  day 
and  particularly  to-day  when  you  have  actually 
told  me  that  you  thought  I  had  misled  you  as  to 
the  state  of  my  affections. 

This  is  a  grave  offense  towards  a  woman  who 
has  never  deceived  you  on  the  subject  of  her  heart, 
and  whose  only  fault  is  to  love  you  too  much,  for 

162 


To  Victor  Hugo 

her  very  excess  in  this  respect  has  given  her  the 
sad  courage  to  risk  losing  your  esteem  in  order 
to  preserve  your  love  one  day  longer. 

But  I  am  unwilling  to  think  you  intended  to 
hurt  me  by  allowing  me  to  see  the  canker  in  your 
heart.  I  prefer  to  believe  that  we  are  equally  the 
victims  of  a  calamity  under  which  our  only  re- 
source is  to  separate  from  one  another.  Possibly 
our  wounds  will  heal  when  they  are  no  longer  ex- 
posed to  the  continual  friction  of  carping  suspi- 
cion. 

Good-by.  Forgive  me  if  I  have  offended  you. 
I  am  loth  to  hurt  you.  J. 

I  beg  you  not  to  attempt  to  see  me  again.  This 
is  the  last  sacrifice  I  will  ask  of  you.2 

(June,  1833). 
M.  Y  BELOVED,  MY  DEAR  VICTOR  : 

Do  not  be  anxious.  I  am  as  well  as  a  poor 
woman  who  has  lost  her  happiness  and  the  sole 
joy  of  her  existence  can  expect  to  be.  If  I  could 
let  you  know  my  place  of  refuge  without  exposing 
us  both,  but  more  particularly  myself,  to  useless 
wretchedness,  I  would  do  so.  Confidence,  the  in- 
dispensable ingredient  in  an  union  such  as  ours, 

2  This  letter  is  not  signed.  The  envelope  is  addressed :  "M. 
Victor  Hugo.  A  quarter  to  twelve  midnight.  I  am  going  to 
your  house." 

163 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

no  longer  exists  in  your  mind.  God  is  my  wit- 
ness that  I  have  never  once  deceived  you  in  mat- 
ters of  love,  during  the  past  four  months.  Any 
concealment  I  have  been  guilty  of  has  only  been 
with  the  intention  of  sparing  us  both  unnecessary 
worry,  in  view  of  the  attitude  of  mind  we  have 
been  in  lately. 

I  may  have  been  wrong ;  the  purity  of  my  inten- 
tion must  be  my  excuse. 

p.^5  p.  m.,  Saturday,  August  i$th  (1833). 
WHILE  you  are  on  your  travels,  dearest,  my 
thoughts  follow  you  in  all  love.  Though  I 
still  feel  somewhat  sore,  I  will  strive  to  control 
myself  and  speak  only  those  gentle  words  you  like 
to  hear. 

It  was  dear  of  you  to  allow  me  to  come  to  your 
house.3  It  was  far  more  than  a  satisfaction  to 
my  curiosity  and  I  thank  you  for  having  admitted 
me  to  the  spot  where  you  live,  love  and  work. 
Yet  to  be  entirely  frank  with  you,  my  adored,  I 
must  tell  you  that  the  visit  filled  me  with  sadness 
and  dejection.  I  realize  more  than  ever  the  depth 

3  Victor  Hugo  was  then  living  at  6,  Place  Royale,  in  the  house 
which  is  now  the  Musee  Victor  Hugo.  Juliette  Drouet  lived 
not  far  away  at  4,  Rue  de  Paradis  au  Marais.  The  Rue  de 
Paradis  au  Marais  is  one  of  the  sections  of  the  Rue  des  Francs- 
Bourgeois. 

164 


To  Victor  Hugo 

of  the  chasm  that  gapes  between  your  life  and 
mine.  It  is  no  fault  of  yours,  beloved,  nor  of 
mine,  but  so  it  is.  It  would  be  unreasonable  of 
me  to  call  you  to  account  for  more  of  my  sorrow 
than  you  are  responsible  for,  yet  I  may  surely  tell 
you,  dearly  beloved,  that  I  am  the  most  miserable 
of  women. 

If  you  have  any  pity  for  me,  dear  love,  you  will 
assist  me  to  rise  superior  to  the  lowly  and  humble 
position  which  tortures  my  spirit  as  well  as  my 
body. 

Help  me,  my  good  angel,  that  I  may  believe  in 
you  and  in  the  future. 

I  beg  and  implore  you.  J. 


IT  is  not  quite  six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  I  have 
just  finished  copying  the  verses  you  gave  me  yes- 
terday. I  am  not  very  familiar  with  the  forms  of 
compliment  in  usage  in  fashionable  society.  All 
I  can  tell  you  is  that  I  wept  and  admired  when  I 
heard  you  read  them,  and  that  I  wept  and  admired 
when  I  read  them  to  myself,  and  that  once  more  I 
weep  and  admire  in  recalling  them.  I  thank  you 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  having  thought 
of  me  when  you  were  writing  them.  Thank  you, 
my  beloved,  for  the  benign  sentiments  that  in- 

165 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

spired  you.  Your  beautiful  lines  have  had  the 
effect  you  anticipated,  for  they  have  acted  both  as 
a  cordial  and  a  sedative  to  my  sick  spirit.  Thank 
you !  thank  you !  and  again,  thank  you !  You  are 
not  only  sublime,  you  are  kind  and  what  is  better 
still,  you  are  indulgent,  you  who  have  so  much 
right  to  be  severe. 

I  love  you.  My  heart  melts  in  admiration  and 
adoration.  There  is  more  rapture  of  love  in  my 
poor  heart  than  it  is  capable  of  containing.  Come 
then,  and  receive  the  superabundance  of  my 
ecstasy. 

If  you  only  knew  how  I  long  for  you,  and  desire 
you !  If  you  knew  more  still,  you  would  come,  I 
am  very  sure!  Come,  come,  I  beg  you,  come! 
You  shall  have  a  kiss  for  every  step,  a  recompense 
for  every  effort,  more  smiles  and  more  joy  than 

you  will  encounter  fog  and  cold. 

JULIETTE. 

I  am  writing  this  a  little  later  because  before 
turning  to  business,  I  had  to  unburden  my  heart. 
I  came  home  yesterday,  read  your  poetry,  dined, 
did  my  accounts,  and  went  to  bed.  I  read  the 
newspapers  you  sent,  went  to  sleep,  dreamed  of 
you  and  woke  up  this  morning  at  8  o'clock.  I 
rose  almost  immediately,  did  some  housework, 
and  mended  yesterday's  frock.  In  the  middle  of 

166 


To  Victor  Hugo 

breakfast  Lanvin  arrived,  bringing  the  news- 
papers and  a  letter  from  M.  Pradier  and  some  of 
Mademoiselle  Watteville's  luggage.  He  asked 
whether  we  should  want  him  to  see  us  off.  He 
left  again  at  I  p.  m.  taking  Claire's  things  with 
him  and  some  of  his  wife's.  When  he  had  gone, 
I  washed  and  did  my  hair,  did  the  same  for  Claire 
and  at  2.30  I  sat  down  to  copy,  and  now  I  am 
writing  to  you.  This,  Colonel,  is  my  report. 
Are  you  satisfied?  Then  so  is  the  Corporal  of 
the  Guard.  After  dinner  I  will  hear  the  children 
their  lessons  and  count  the  lines  of  "Feuilles 
d'Automne." 

After  dinner. 

I  have  heard  the  children's  lessons  and  been 
obliged  to  punish  your  protegee,  Claire,  who  is 
the  laziest  and  idlest  of  all  the  pupils.  I  have  just 
read  your  poem  to  Madame  Lanvin;  she  was 
deeply  moved.  The  poor  thing  understands  you, 
therefore  I  need  not  explain  that  she  loves  you. 
Good-night,  until  to-morrow,  I  hope. 

I  suppose  you  did  not  come  to-day  because  you 
had  arrangements  to  make  for  our  journey ;  that 
is  why  I  am  able  to  possess  my  soul  in  patience. 

Sunday,  4  p.  m.  (itfjj). 

I  HAVE  just  come  in  sad  and  depressed.  I  suf- 
fer, I  weep,  I  wail  aloud  and  moan  under  my  breath 

167 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  God  and  to  you.  I  long  to  die  that  I  might  put 
an  end  once  and  for  all  to  this  misery  and  dis- 
appointment and  sorrow.  It  really  seems  as  if 
my  happiness  had  disappeared  with  the  fine 
weather.  It  would  be  folly  to  expect  to  see  either 
again.  The  season  is  too  far  advanced  for  fine 
weather  or  for  happy  days.  You  poor  silly,  who 
wonder  that  I  should  deplore  so  bitterly  the  loss 
of  one  day's  happiness,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  you 
had  not  to  wait  for  the  privilege  of  loving  and 
being  loved  till  you  were  twenty-six  years  old. 
You  poet,  who  wrote  Les  Feuilles  d'Automne  in 
an  atmosphere  of  love,  laughter  of  children,  eyes 
azure  and  black,  locks  brown  and  gold,  happiness 
in  full  measure !  You  have  had  no  cause  to  notice 
how  one  day  of  gloom  and  rain  like  this,  can 
make  the  greenest  of  leaves  wither  and  fall  to 
the  ground.  You  cannot  therefore  know  how 
twenty-four  hours  robbed  of  bliss  can  undermine 
one's  self-confidence  and  strength  for  the  future. 
It  is  evident  that  you  do  not,  for  you  wonder  when 
I  weep;  you  are  almost  annoyed  at  my  grief. 
You  see,  therefore,  that  you  do  not  realize  the 
measure  of  my  devotion.  Surely  I  have  good 
reason  for  regretting  that  I  love  you  so  ardently, 
when  I  see  that  love  uncalled-for  and  unwelcome  ? 
Oh,  yes,  I  love  you,  it  is  true !  I  love  you  in  spite 

168 


To  Victor  Hugo 

of  myself,  in  spite  of  you,  in  spite  of  the  whole 
world,  in  spite  of  God,  in  spite  even  of  the  Devil 
who  mixes  himself  up  in  it. 

I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  happy  or  un- 
happy, merry  or  sad.  I  love  you!  Do  with  me 
what  you  will,  I  still  shall  love  you. 

Monday,  7.50  a.m.  (1833). 
1  HAVE  been  standing  at  the  window  all  this 
time,  my  soul  stretched  towards  you,  my  ear  at- 
tentive to  every  sound,  fearing  always  lest  your 
courage  should  fail  you  before  the  end  of  your 
weary  walk.  It  is  half  an  hour  since  you  left; 
I  have  listened  intently,  but  no  sound  has  reached 
me  that  could  make  me  apprehend  you  had  not 
the  strength  to  reach  your  own  house.  I  trust 
that  while  I  am  penning  these  lines  you  are  al- 
ready experiencing  the  relief  that  bed  and  repose 
will  bring  to  your  suffering.  No  words  of  mine 
can  suffice  to  express  to  you  my  regret,  my  sor- 
row, my  despair,  for  what  happened  to-night.  I 
do  not  acquit  you  altogether  of  guilt,  but  I  ask 
you  to  pardon  your  own  as  well  as  mine.  For- 
give me  for  having  yielded  myself  to  you  after 
what  had  passed  between  us.  I  ought  to  have 
foreseen  what  would  happen  and  what  did  hap- 
pen. God  knows,  I  had  resisted  as  long  as  I 

169 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette*  Drouet 

could  and  had  given  way  only  upon  the  solemn 
promise  you  made  me  never  to  refer  to  the  stains 
of  my  former  life  so  long  as  my  conduct  towards 
you  should  remain  honest  and  pure. 

The  last  seven  months  of  my  life  have  been 
honest  and  pure !  Yet,  have  you  kept  your  word  ? 

If  I  were  the  only  one  to  suffer  I  should  be 
more  resigned,  but  you  are  as  unhappy  as  I,  you 
are  as  ashamed  of  the  insults  you  heap  upon  me 
as  I  am  of  receiving  them. 

Now  that  I  perceive  fully  the  canker  that  lies 
at  the  root  of  our  position,  it  is  my  part  to  arrest 
the  progress  of  the  evil  by  cutting  out  my  soul  and 
my  life  to  preserve  what  can  still  be  saved  of 
yours  and  mine. 

Listen,  Victor,  I  urge  you  not  to  refuse  me 
your  assistance  in  carrying  out  the  plan  I  think 
indispensable  for  the  honor  of  us  both. 

If  anything  can  give  you  courage  it  must  be 
the  knowledge  that  I  have  been  faithful  to  you 
alone  these  seven  months.  Ah,  truly  I  have  never 
deceived  you !  Truly !  truly !  Yet  in  the  course 
of  these  same  months  how  many  mortifying 
scenes  such  as  that  of  to-night  have  taken  place ! 

Surely  you  can  see  that  we  must  no  longer  hesi- 
tate. I  will  go  away  by  the  first  Saumur  omni- 
bus. The  health  of  my  little  girl  can  serve  as  a 

170 


*To  Victor  Hugo 

pretext.  When  I  am  with  her  I  shall  be  able  to 
reflect  upon  my  position  and  see  what  I  can  do 
in  order  to  render  it  tolerable.  If,  as  probably 
may  be  necessary,  I  were  to  leave  the  theater,  the 
furniture  would  cover  my  debt  to  Jourdain,  and 
if  you  were  unwilling  to  be  worried  I  could  re- 
quest any  man  of  business  to  sell  it,  up  to  the 
amount  of  my  bill  to  Jourdain,  which  is  the  only 
one  for  which  you  are  responsible. 

I  shall  go  abroad.  Such  as  I  am,  I  am  still 
capable  of  earning  my  living,  which  is  all  that  is 
necessary. 

But  all  this  is  beside  the  question.  The  im- 
portant point  is  that  I  ought  to  start  as  soon  as 
possible,  to-day  even,  in  order  to  protect  us  both 
from  ourselves. 

Before  going  I  hope  to  see  you  once  more,  un- 
less your  condition  should  become  worse,  which 
is  a  horrifying  thought  when  I  consider  that  I 
am  the  cause  of  it. 

But  whether  I  see  you  or  not,  whether  you  are 
the  victim  of  my  temper  or  not,  I  leave  with  you 
all  my  love  and  all  my  happiness.  I  do  not  re- 
serve even  hope;  I  give  into  your  keeping  my 
soul,  my  thoughts,  my  life.  I  take  only  with  me 
my  body  which  you  have  no  cause  to  regret. 

JULIETTE. 
171 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  *t)rouet 


(December  20th, 

JVlY  BELOVED  VICTOR: 

I  have  been  very  unjust  to  you.  You  have  had 
cause  to  call  me  ungrateful  and  unworthy.  You 
will  soon  hate  me  —  soon,  also,  you  will  have  for- 
gotten me.  I  feel  it.  You  see,  there  can  be  no 
thought  or  sentiment  of  yours  that  I  do  not  under- 
stand and  apprehend.  At  this  moment,  even 
while  I  am  writing  to  you,1*  you  are  blaming  me 
for  suffering.  You  are  annoyed  with  me  for 
idolizing  you  with  an  extravagance  which  renders 
me  mad  and  jealous.  You  are  tired  of  my  love, 
it  cramps  you,  fatigues  you.  You  meditate  fly- 
ing from  me.  My  bad  luck  frightens  you,  you 
fear  to  share  it  longer.  You  dread  the  responsi- 
bility; say  rather,  you  love  me  less,  perhaps  not 
at  all.  Oh,  what  suffering  that  fear  gives  me! 
My  head  is  aching.  I  wish  I  could  die.  It  must 
be  my  fault.  I  have  been  wrong  to  show  you  the 
hideous  wound  in  my  heart,  the  jealousy  which 
lacerates  and  destroys  it.  Yes,  I  ought  to  have 
concealed  my  sufferings  from  you.  I  ought 
never  to  fly  into  those  rages  that  betray  the  depth 
of  my  love  and  grief. 

My  Victor,  do  not  leave  me.  I  beg  you  on  my 
knees,  do  not  be  daunted  before  a  public  responsi- 
bility. Who  has  the  right  to  demand  from  you  an 

172 


o  Victor  Hugo 

account  of  the  measure  of  the  sacrifices  you  have 
made  for  me?  What  does  it  matter  if  you  are 
denied  the  justice  you  deserve?  what  matter  that 
you  should  be  held  responsible  in  part  for  my 
troubles?  The  point  to  be  considered  before  all 
others  is  your  private  relations  with  me.  The 
responsibility  you  must  accept  is  towards  me  only ; 
it  concerns  only  our  two  selves.  If  you  repudiate 
it,  it  will  kill  me,  for  my  whole  life  is  wrapped  up 
in  you  and  your  presence.  I  breathe  only 
through  your  lips,  see  only  with  your  eyes,  live 
only  in  your  heart.  If  you  withdraw  yourself 
from  me,  I  must  die. 

Reflect !  This  is  not  a  threat,  to  keep  you  near 
me.  I  am  not  exaggerating  the  extent  to  which 
you  are  necessary  to  my  very  existence — I  am 
only  telling  you  what  I  feel.  It  is  the  truth,  but 
the  truth  under  restriction,  for  I  hardly  dare  ac- 
knowledge it  in  its  entirety,  even  to  myself.  7 
require  you!  Only  you!  I  cannot  exist  without 
you.  Think  of  it.  Try  to  love  me  enough  to 
accept  the  charge  of  my  life,  with  all  its  attendant 
bad  luck.  JULIETTE. 

2  a.  m.,  January  1st,  1834. 
To  THEE,  MY  VICTOR: 

I  dare  not  say  anything.  Guess  what  I  am 
feeling  and  do  with  me  what  you  will. 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  love  you  .  .  .  the  memory  of  what  has  gone 
before,  and  my  fears  for  the  future,  prevent  me 
from  describing  my  emotions  as  freely  as  for- 
merly. Forget  the  past,  take  the  future  into  your 
own  hands  and  I  shall  regain  the  faculty  of  say- 
ing: "I  love  you,"  as  earnestly  as  I  mean  it. 

I  love  you  .  .  .  JULIETTE. 

Saturday  morning,  1834. 
1  o  MONSIEUR  VICTOR  HUGO. 
IN  TOWN: 

It  is  a  quarter  to  one.  I  have  been  to  your 
printing-works,  numbers  16  and  19;  you  had  not 
been  seen.  I  went  on  to  your  house ;  you  had  not 
come  in.  I  wrote  you  a  line,  I  waited  for  you. 
...  At  last  I  came  home  hoping  to  find  you ;  but 
you  had  not  been  here.  My  thanks  to  you  for 
treating  me  like  a  vagrant  dog.  You  had  in- 
formed me  that  you  were  going  to  the  printing- 
works,  that  you  might  go  back  to  your  house, 
that  you  would  certainly  go  to  mine.  .  .  . 

You  forgot  your  promises  at  once,  and  you  seem 
to  hold  my  love  very  cheap.  • 

If  you,  indifferent  though  you  may  be,  could  see 
me  in  imagination,  as  I  sit  writing  to  you,  you 
would  be  horrified  at  the  condition  your  injustice 
and  disdain  have  reduced  me  to. 

174 


To  Victor  Hugo 

It  is  evident  that  you  no  longer  love  me  and  that 
you  are  only  bound  to  me  by  the  fear  of  causing 
some  great  calamity  if  you  desert  me.  It  is  in- 
deed grievous  that  this  should  be  the  only  senti- 
ment which  links  you  to  me,  and  I  am  unwilling 
to  accept  a  devotion  so  hollow  and  humiliating. 
I  give  you  back  your  freedom.  From  this  mo- 
ment you  have  no  responsibility  towards  me,  al- 
though my  heart  is  broken,  although  my  soul  is 
still  fuller  of  love  than  it  is  able  to  contain,  al- 
though my  eyes,  as  I  write,  are  drenched  with 
bitter  tears.  I  shall  still  have  the  courage  neces- 
sary to  bear  my  life  as  it  will  be  when  bereft  of 
happiness  and  laughter. 

You  have  been  very  cruel  to  me.  I  forgive 
you.  Forgive  also  my  tempests  of  rage.  I  am 
ashamed  of  them,  and  thoroughly  wretched.  I 
swear  to  you  by  that  which  I  hold  most  sacred  in 
life,  namely  my  child,  that  I  am  unable  to  explain 
how  I  can  have  been  guilty  yesterday  of  a  thing 
I  utterly  disapprove  of  and  which  seems  to  me  the 
acme  of  effrontery.  I  swear  I  never  saw  those 
men.  I  am  innocent  of  any  crime.  I  can  say  no 
more.  You  have  crushed  me  by  referring  again 
to  my  past  life,  and  even  while  I  am  assuring  you 
of  my  love  and  repentance,  and  while  I  still  hope 
for  a  reconciliation,  I  tremble  to  feel  that  you  can 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

suspect  me  so  unjustly.  My  heart  shrinks  from 
the  sorrow  still  in  store  for  it  ...  my  pen  fails 
me.  .  .  . 

Farewell !  May  you  enjoy  greater  tranquillity 
and  happiness  than  will  fall  to  my  lot.  Do  not 
forget  that  for  a  whole  year  we  were  happy  by 
means  of  our  love. 

Good-by !  I  have  indeed  received  my  full  meed 
of  punishment  for  the  imaginary  crime  of  yester- 
day. 

Farewell.     Think  of  me  without  bitterness. 

JULIETTE. 

Monday,  2  a.m.  (1834). 

I  RETURNED  from  the  Place  Royale  about  two 
hours  ago.  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  I  arrived 
there  and  I  left  at  about  midnight.  I  had  hoped 
to  bring  you  back  with  me  or  failing  that,  to  catch 
sight  of  you  at  least.  I  waited  patiently  all  that 
time,  hoping  that  you  would  become  aware  of  my 
presence,  and  reward  me  for  it  by  one  glance. 
But  everything  remained  dark  and  gloomy  for 
me  though  it  was  easy  to  see  the  lights  through 
the  drawn  blinds  and  the  shadows  of  many  people 
moving  about. 

It  will  not  be  the  last  time,  in  all  probability, 
that  I  shall  observe  that,  while  I  suffer  and  weep, 

176 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  make  merry.  Forgive  me,  my  Victor,  for- 
give me  for  this  comparison  of  our  respective  lots. 
It  is  the  last  time  I  shall  make  it,  perhaps  even  the 
last  time  I  shall  write  to  you,  for  you  have  said 
that  you  will  not  read  any  more  of  my  letters  for 
a  long  time  ...  a  long  time  signifies  "forever," 
for  you  will  forget  me  and  I  shall  die.  Your  love 
was  my  whole  life.  To-night  I  feel  as  miserable 
as  I  should  be  if  you  no  longer  loved  me.  God, 
how  sorely  I  need  pity ! 

I  have  just  obeyed  your  wishes  by  putting  all 
your  works  away  carefully.  As  for  my  own 
relics  of  you,  I  have  collected  them  in  an  English 
desk  under  lock  and  key  and  hidden  them  under 
my  bolster  where  they  shall  always  remain. 

Farewell,  the  performance  of  this  duty  has  been 
a  mournful  satisfaction  to  me. 

Saturday,  6  p.  m.  (1834). 
To  THEE,  MY  BELOVED: 

You  promised  that  as  soon  as  your  work  was 
finished  you  would  devote  all  your  time  to  me; 
you  also  said  when  you  were  leaving  me  yester- 
day that  you  would  come  early  this  morning. 
Neither  of  these  promises  have  you  kept;  yet  I 
have  never  longed  for  your  presence  and  your 
love  more  than  at  this  moment  when  anxiety 

177 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

seems  to  have  taken  up  its  abode  with  me.  I  have 
been  so  worried  that  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
could  endure  another  day  like  this. 

I  am  thankful  to  leave  this  house;  it  is  so 
haunted  by  ill-luck  and  sadness  that  to  be  quit  of 
it  will  be  a  relief. 

My  Victor,  what  is  going  to  become  of  us? 
What  can  we  do  to  avert  the  misfortune  that 
threatens  us  ? 1  Can  you  think  of  any  way  out 
of  the  trouble  ?  Do  you  love  me  ?  I  love  you  so 
in  prosperity,  and  still  more  in  adversity!  Ah, 
God  be  merciful  to  me !  Without  your  help  I  am 
done.  JULIETTE. 

I  HAVE  no  other  refuge  or  I  should  not  go  to 
Madame  K.  I  cannot  wander  about  alone,  for 
that  would  make  you  anxious,  yet  I  cannot  stay 
here,  I  am  too  miserable.  I  will  wait  for  you  at 
Madame  K.'s  house  until  nine  o'clock.  I  hardly 
know  what  I  am  writing  or  have  written.  My 
reason  and  will  are  in  abeyance  this  morning. 

I  write  because  I  am  wretched,  because  I  must 
make  moan  to  someone  or  something.  I  write 
because  I  shall  soon  be  dead.  These  lines  will  be 
the  cold  remains  of  my  soul,  and  thoughts  and 

1  Juliette's    furniture   had   just   been   seized  and  her  landlord 
was  threatening  to  evict  her. 

I78 


To  Victor  Hugo 

love,  as  my  body  will  be  the  corpse  of  my  warm 
flesh  and  blood. 

I  write  to  declare  my  faith,  to  obtain  pardon 
of  my  sins,  to  weep,  because  my  tears  strangle  me 
and  will  put  an  end  to  me. 

I  shall  be  in  the  street  to-night.  I  shall  remain 
there  as  long  as  my  strength  holds  out,  without 
hope,  but  still,  near  you.  .  .  . 

Midnight,  Saturday,  2d  August  (1834). 

1  O  VICTOR: 

Farewell  forever.  You  have  decreed  it  thus. 
Farewell  then,  and  may  you  be  as  happy  and  ad- 
mired as  I  shall  be  hapless  and  forlorn. 

Farewell !  This  word  comprises  my  whole  life, 
and  joy,  and  happiness.  JULIETTE. 

I  am  going  away  with  my  child.  I  am  just 
going  out  to  fetch  her  and  take  our  places.  The 
Comedie  Franchise  management  has  no  claim  on 
my  services  until  it  has  assigned  me  my  parts. 
My  maid  has  orders  to  open  my  letters.  If  there 
should  be  one  from  the  Comedie  Franchise  she 
would  let  me  know  at  once  and  everything  could 
be  arranged.  I  need  not,  therefore,  worry  about 
it  at  present. 

179 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 


MADEMOISELLE  MARIE, 
Care  of  Madame  Drouet, 

No.  4  Bis,  Rue  de  Paradis  au  Marais, 

Paris. 

Enclosed  is  a  letter  for  Monsieur  Victor  Hugo. 
If  he  should  not  come  to  the  house,  try  and  man- 
age to  let  him  know  that  there  is  one  awaiting 
him  at  No.  4,  Rue  de  Paradis  au  Marais,  from 
Madame  Kraftt.  If  he  is  still  in  Paris  I  expect 
he  will  understand  what  you  mean  and  will  either 
send  for  it  or  fetch  it  himself.  In  any  case  write 
to  me  by  every  post  and  tell  me  about  Monsieur 
Victor  Hugo;  whether  you  have  seen  him,  what 
he  has  said  to  you,  whether  he  is  still  in  Paris, 
or  whether  he  has  left  ;  in  fact  tell  me  everything 
you  can  find  out  concerning  him. 

I  am  writing  from  Rennes  where  I  arrived  very 
ill,  with  my  child.  I  hope,  however,  to  be  able  to 
leave  to-morrow  and  go  to  my  sister.  Write  to 
me  there  and  address  thus  : 

Madame  Drouet, 

Care  of  M.  Louis  Kock, 
Saint  Renan, 

By  Brest. 
Please  take  good  care  of  the  house. 

J.  DROUET. 
1  80 


To  Victor  Hugo 

(ENCLOSURE) 
2.30  p.  m.,  Monday  (1834). 

RENNES. 
MY  DEAR  VICTOR: 

I  am  writing  this  letter  on  the  chance  of  its 
reaching  you,  but  in  the  mournful  apprehension 
that  you  may  never  read  it. 

My  beloved,  I  love  you  more  than  ever.  I  can- 
not do  without  you.  I  would  willingly  die  for 
you,  but  I  cannot  consent  to  accept  a  devotion 
which  might  endanger  your  health  and  your  life. 
I  was  forced  to  fly  from  you.  It  cost  me  much 
to  resist  your  supplications  and  your  wrathful 
glances.  I  suffered  frightfully,  and  now  alas  I 
know  that  were  you  with  me  I  could  no  longer 
withstand  either  your  gentle  pleading  or  your  ter- 
rible anger.  I  am  very  wretched.  I  love  and 
bless  you.  Be  happy !  JULIETTE. 

One  portion  of  your  curse  has  already  come  to 
pass.  My  soul  and  body  have  suffered  severely. 
In  addition,  I  have  been  harried  to  death  by  the 
idiotic  authorities  who  are  suspicious  of  every 
woman  without  a  passport.  I  have  been  at 
Rennes  about  half-an-hour.  It  is  half-past  two. 
I  leave  again  for  Brest  to-morrow  morning  at 
four  o'clock;.  I  expect  to  arrive  on  Thursday  at 
five  in  the  evening.  My  Victor,  I  love  you.  I 

181 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

could  do  anything  for  you.  Have  pity  upon  me. 
I  love  you  better  than  anything  in  life. 

$th  August  (1834). 
MADEMOISELLE  MARIE, 
Care  of  Madame  Drouet, 

No.  4  Bis,  Rue  de  Paradis,  au  Marais, 

Paris. 

Here  is  another  letter  for  Monsieur  Victor 
Hugo.  Try  to  get  it  to  him.  If  he  is  in  the 
country  near  Paris,  let  him  know  that  there  is 
something  at  my  house  in  the  name  of  Madame 
Kraftt  that  will  interest  him. 

I  have  spent  a  sad  and  sleepless  night.  I  am 
afraid  of  falling  really  ill.  Answer  this  at  once. 

J.  DROUET. 

(ENCLOSURE) 

4  a.  m.,  jth  August  (1834). 
RENNES. 

VICTOR,  I  love  you.  Victor,  I  shall  die  of  this 
separation.  I  need  you  to  be  able  to  live.  Since 
I  told  you  everything,  since  the  moment  when  my 
eyes  could  no  longer  rest  upon  yours,  I  have  felt 
as  if  all  my  veins  were  being  opened,  and  my  life's 
blood  slowly  drained  away.  I  feel  myself  dying, 
and  I  know  that  I  love  you  the  better  for  every 

182 


To  Victor  Hugo 

pang.  My  Victor,  can  you  forgive  me  ?  Do  you 
still  love  me  ?  Is  it  really  true  that  you  hate  me, 
that  I  am  odious  in  your  sight,  that  you  despise 
me,  that  you  would  crush  my  face  to  the  pavement 
if  I  pressed  my  lips  to  your  feet  pleading  for  for- 
giveness? Oh,  if  you  still  love  me,  if  you  still 
respect  me,  if  you  can  forgive  everything,  only 
tell  me  so  and  I  will  do  all  you  wish.  Every- 
thing, I  swear !  Will  you  take  me  back  ? 
I  am  very  ill. 

3  a.m.  (1834). 

FOR  MY  VICTOR: 

While  I  was  expecting  to  see  you  I  could  not 
sleep.  Now  that  the  hope  is  dead  I  still  cannot 
sleep  because  I  am  unhappy.  I  grieve  not  to  have 
seen  you;  I  grieve  because  I  was  cross  and  ill- 
tempered  when  you  were  gentle  and  charming. 
I  rehearse  in  imagination  all  the  incidents  of  the 
evening  and  the  pain  at  my  heart  grows  unbear- 
able. It  is  wicked  of  me  to  torment  you,  yet  I 
cannot  help  myself.  My  offense  goes  by  the  name 
of  "jealousy."  Much  as  I  dread  displeasing  you 
I  yet  cannot  avoid  giving  way  to  that  hideous 
passion.  I  make  you  miserable  when  I  should 
like  to  saturate  you  with  happiness.  Oh,  it  is 
horribly  wrong  of  me !  I  am  much  to  be  pitied, 

183 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

for  I  am  jealous,  and  of  whom  ?  The  most  beau- 
tiful, the  most  gentle,  the  most  perfect  of  women 
.  .  .  your  wife!  Heaven  forgive  me!  My  tor- 
ment is  surely  sufficient  expiation  for  my  fault ! 

God,  how  I  love  you!  how  I  love  my  Victor! 
All  is  contained  in  these  words.  You  do  forgive 
me,  do  you  not?  and  you  love  me  as  much  as 
ever?  I  hope  so  .  .  .  else,  I  should  prefer  to  die. 

JULIETTE. 

* 

5  p.  m.  Sunday,  (1834). 

1  HAVE  abandoned  hope  .  .  .  yet  love  re- 
mains. I  no  longer  believe  that  any  happiness  is 
possible  for  me  in  the  future,  but  you  I  love  more 
every  day;  better  than  the  first  day,  better  than 
yesterday,  better  than  this  morning,  better  than 
a  moment  ago,  and  still  I  am  not  happy. 

You  remember  what  I  used  to  say  to  you 
when  Marie  Tudor  was  in  rehearsal?  "Those 
wretches  have  robbed  me  of  my  self-confidence; 
I  dare  not,  cannot  rehearse  any  more,  I  feel  par- 
alyzed." 

To-day,  it  is  not  a  theatrical  part  that  is  in 
question,  it  is  my  life.  Now  that  calumny  has 
crushed  me,  now  that  my  mode  of  life  has  been 
condemned  without  my  having  a  chance  of  self- 
defense,  now  that  my  health  and  reason  have 

184 


To  Victor  Hugo 

been  expended  in  this  struggle  without  profit  or 
glory,  now  that  I  have  been  held  up  before  the 
public  as  a  woman  without  a  future,  I  dare  not, 
cannot  live  longer  .  .  .  this  is  absolutely  true. 
...  I  dare  not  live.  This  fear  has  brought  me 
to  the  verge  of  suicide  ...  a  peculiar  suicide. 
I  do  not  propose  to  kill  myself  like  other  people. 
I  mean  to  sever  myself  from  you,  and,  to  me,  such 
a  severance  signifies  death.  Death  certainly.  I 
have  already  made  one  experiment  of  the  kind, 
therefore  I  am  sure. 

I  am  confirmed  in  this  project  by  the  reflection 
that  you  will  thereby  be  restored  to  liberty;  that 
you  will  be  free  to  direct  your  life  and  your  genius 
in  the  way  best  suited  to  your  happiness;  that  I 
shall  no  longer  be  an  obstacle  in  your  path,  but 
an  object  of  pity  and  indulgence — pity  for  what 
I  shall  suffer,  indulgence  and  forgiveness  for  such 
of  my  faults  as  have  made  you  suffer. 

If  the  excess  of  my  love  and  grief  bring  me 
back  to  you,  take  no  notice  of  me  .  .  .  shut  your 
eyes,  stop  your  ears,  remain  in  your  own  house 
.  .  .  thus  you  may  learn  to  forget,  while  I  ... 
I  ...  shall  die.  I  shall  not  suffer  long.  I  shall 
soon  be  at  rest. 

It  is  raining  hard  at  this  moment  and  I  am  in 
a  raging  fever.  No  matter,  I  shall  go  out.  I  do 

185 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

not  know  whether  you  purpose  coming  to  fetch 
me.  If  you  do  not,  I  cannot  tell  what  time  I  shall 
return  home.  I  don't  care,  I  am  mad !  I  am  in 
torture  such  as  I  have  never  yet  endured!  yet  I 
love  you  even  more  than  I  suffer.  My  love  dom- 
inates my  whole  being.  I  love  you. 

JULIETTE. 

5-30  (1834). 

i  OU  wish  me  to  write  to  you  in  your  absence. 
I  am  always  unwilling  to  accede  to  this  desire, 
for  when  we  are  separated  my  thoughts  are  so 
sad  and  painful  that  I  should  prefer  to  hide  them 
from  you  if  possible. 

You  see,  my  Victor,  this  sedentary,  solitary  life 
is  killing  me.  I  wear  my  soul  out  with  longing. 
My  days  are  spent  in  a  room  twelve  feet  square. 
What  I  desire  is  not  the  world,  nor  empty  plea- 
sures, but  liberty,  liberty  to  act,  liberty  to  employ 
my  time  and  strength  in  household  duties;  what 
I  want  is  a  respite  from  suffering,  for  I  endure 
a  thousand  deaths  every  moment.  I  ask  for  life 
— life  like  yours,  like  other  people's.  If  you  can- 
not understand  this,  and  if  I  seem  foolish  or  un- 
just in  your  eyes,  leave  me,  do  not  worry  about 
me  any  more.  I  hardly  know  what  I  am  writing, 
my  eyes  are  inflamed,  my  heart  heavy.  I  want 

1 86 


To  Victor  Hugo 

air,  I  am  suffocating!  Oh,  Heaven,  have  pity 
upon  me!  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such 
wretchedness !  I  love  you,  I  adore  you,  my  Vic- 
tor ;  have  pity  upon  me.  Kill  me  with  one  blow, 
but  do  not  let  me  suffer  as  many  eternities  as 
there  are  minutes  in  every  one  of  your  absences. 
What  am  I  saying?  I  am  delirious,  feverish 
— Oh  God,  have  mercy  on  me! 

JULIETTE. 

8. jo  p.m.,  Nov.  4th  (1834). 

I  ES,  you  are  my  support,  you  are  the  stable 
earth  beneath  my  feet,  my  hope,  my  joy,  my  happi- 
ness, my  all!  I  do  not  know  how  these  halting 
words  of  mine  can  be  expected  to  convey  my 
thoughts  to  your  mind,  but  this  indeed  is  truly 
and  sincerely  meant :  that  you  are  to  me  the  no- 
blest, most  sincere,  most  generous  of  men.  I  be- 
lieve this  and  have  absolute  confidence  in  your 
power  to  frustrate  the  evil  fate  which  holds  me 
in  its  grip. 

My  dearly  beloved,  you  were  quite  charming 
just  now,  and  you  are  perfectly  right  when  you 
say  that  there  is  an  element  of  vanity  in  your 
nobility  of  conduct;  for  nothing  could  be  more 
becoming  than  the  elegant  and  dignified  manner 

187 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

in  which  you  raised  me  just  now  from  my  knees. 
You  were  really  great.     You  were  a  king  ! 

My  darling  little  Toto,  cheri!  I  am  going  to 
bed  now,  because  I  do  not  know  if  you  will  come 
early  enough  to  take  me  out.  JULIETTE. 


DEARLY  BELOVED: 

I  wish  I  were  a  great  actress;  first  of  all  be- 
cause if  my  soul  and  intellect  were  equal  to  yours 
another  link  would  be  forged  between  us,  but  still 
more  because  I  should  love  to  be  able  to  spare  you 
the  annoyances  caused  by  an  old  woman  *  ren- 
dered aggressive  by  her  conceit. 

I  need  not  finish  this  letter,  for  here  you  are! 


J.T  is  long  after  n  o'clock.  I  am  no  longer  ex- 
pecting you  for  a  walk,  but  I  do  still  hope  to  see 
you  this  evening.  I  write  you  these  few  lines  as 
an  apology  for  the  disappointment  I  feel  each 
time  you  fail  me.  I  am  miserable,  but  not  angry  ; 
I  shed  tears  but  do  not  reproach  you.  I  am  often 
much  to  be  pitied,  but  I  never  cease  loving  you 
to  distraction.  If  only  you  could  believe  this  I 
think  I  could  bear  my  invidious  position  with  more 

1  Mile.   Mars,   who   was   rehearsing  a   part  in  Angela   at  the 
Comedie  Franchise. 

1  88 


To  Victor  Hugo 

resignation.  I  am  afraid  you  misapprehend  my 
love,  and  this  anxiety  often  makes  the  days  seem 
long  and  sad. 

But  I  must  not  forget  that  you  are  working  and 
worn  out,  and  that  you  have  neither  strength  nor 
leisure  to  listen,  that  is  to  say  to  read,  of  my  wor- 
ries. 

11.30  p.  m. 

Here  you  are  !  I  am  finishing  this  letter  more 
untidily  even  than  usual.  Luckily  one's  char- 
acter, and  more  important  still,  one's  heart,  are 
not  exclusively  interpreted  by  one's  handwriting. 

JULIETTE. 


J./5  p.  m.  Saturday 
MY  POOR,  DEAR,  BELOVED  TOTO: 

When  I  see  you  so  preoccupied  with  important 
business,  I  am  ashamed  to  add  to  your  fatigues 
by  the  reiteration  of  my  devotion  which  you  al- 
ready know  by  heart.  Did  I  not  fear  that  you 
would  misunderstand  my  silence  I  should  put  an 
end  to  these  letters  which,  after  all,  are  only  a 
cold  skeleton,  a  dull  narrative  of  the  generous, 
tender,  passionate  feelings  which  fill  my  heart. 
I  should  stop  them,  I  say,  until  after  the  produc- 
tion of  your  Play,  reserving  to  myself  the  privi- 
lege of  taking  my  revenge  afterwards  by  multi- 

189 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

plying  my  words  and  caresses.  This  is  what  I 
should  do  if  you  felt  only  a  quarter  as  much  solici- 
tude for  your  dear  little  person  as  I  do. 

It  is  nearly  three  o'clock.  I  hope  by  this  time 
everything  has  gone  off  well  at  rehearsal.  It  is 
high  time  my  admired,  beloved,  adored  poet  left 
that  wretched  den  they  call  the  Theatre  Frangais. 
You  would  leave  it  with  full  credit  to  yourself 
notwithstanding  the  ill-will  of  that  jealous  old 
wretch  and  the  stupidity,  hatred,  and  malice  of 
the  cabal  against  you. 

You  will  see,  my  splendid  lion,  whether  those 
hideous  crows  will  dare  croak  in  face  of  your 
roaring.  As  for  me,  if  anything  could  make  me 
prouder  and  happier,  it  would  be  that  I  alone  un- 
derstand you.  JULIETTE. 

i.jo  p.  m.,  Saturday,  April  nth,  (1835). 

W  H Y  were  you  so  smart  just  now  ?  It  makes 
me  dreadfully  anxious,  especially  in  conjunction 
with  your  early  morning  walks  to  the  Arsenal. 
Toto.  .  .  .  Toto.  .  .  .  You  do  not  know  what  I 
am  capable  of,  take  care!  I  do  not  love  you  for 
nothing.  If  you  deceived  me  the  least  bit  in  the 
world  I  should  kill  you.  But  no,  seriously,  I  am 
jealous  when  I  see  you  so  fascinating..  I  do  not 
feel  as  reassured  as  you  would  wish  me  to  be. 

190 


To  Victor  Hugo 

In  fact,  I  insist  upon  attending  these  rehearsals. 
I  do  not  choose  to  confide  my  dear  lover  to  the 
discretion  of  nobody  knows  whom.  I  wish  to 
keep  my  lover  to  myself  in  the  face  of  the  nation 
and  of  all  French  actresses. 

That  is  my  politic  and  literary  resolve  :  I  shall 
put  it  into  execution  from  to-morrow. 

By  the  way,  this  is  my  birthday.  You  did  not 
even  know  it.  Or  rather,  I  dare  say  you  do  not 
care  whether  I  was  ever  born  or  not.  Is  it  true 
that  you  do  not  mind  one  little  bit?  That  is  all 
the  importance  you  attach  to  my  love  !  And  yet 
one  thing  is  very  certain  :  that  I  was  created  and 
put  into  the  world  solely  to  love  you,  and  God 
knows  with  what  ardor  I  fulfill  my  mission. 

I  love  you,  ah,  yes,  indeed  I  love  you,  I  love  my 
Victor  !  JULIETTE. 


8  p.  m.,  Saturday 
1  AM  more  than  ever  resolved  to  separate  our 
lives  one  from  the  other.  What  you  say  about 
Mile.  Mars'  increasing  age  and  the  impossibility 
of  obtaining  a  double  success  through  her,  liter- 
ary as  well  as  financial,  and  about  the  necessity 
of  securing  the  services  of  Madame  Dorval  or 
some  equally  handsome  and  celebrated  actress, 
makes  me  determined  to  sever  our  connection  as 

191 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

speedily  as  possible,  no  matter  where  I  may  have 
to  go,  or  under  what  pecuniary  conditions.  Your 
words  to-night  prove  that  you  have  had  private 
intelligence  about  Mile.  Mars,  Madame  Dorval 
and  the  theater  generally,  that  you  have  concealed 
from  me,  although  it  must  completely  revolution- 
ize the  plans  made  by  you  for  the  first  Play  you 
were  to  give  at  this  theater.  The  secrecy  you 
have  maintained  on  the  subject,  contrary  to  all 
your  promises  to  conceal  nothing  from  me, 
grieves  me  more  than  the  treachery  of  Mon- 
sieur Harel  and  Mile.  George,  more  even  than 
the  wicked  animosity  of  your  enemies  and  the 
perfidy  of  your  intimate  friends  against  myself. 
This  silence  is  proof  positive  that  I  am  a  hin- 
drance to  your  interests;  you  dread  my  ambition 
and  my  jealousy;  you  had  already  seen  the  pro- 
priety of  giving  a  part  to  Madame  Dorval,  but 
you  did  not  dare  tell  me  so  for  fear  of  encounter- 
ing resistance  and  tears  from  me  at  this  new  dis- 
tribution. You  have  only  partially  averted  these. 
I  will  not  attempt  to  thwart  you,  on  the  contrary ; 
as  for  my  tears,  they  are  not  worth  wiping  away, 
nor  even  restraining.2  From  this  very  night  we 
cease  our  communion  of  dramatic  interests.  I 
go  back  to  the  position  I  ought  never  to  have  left : 

2  There  are  traces  of  tears  all  over  this  letter. 

192 


To  Victor  Hugo 

that  of  a  hack  actress  who  is  given  any  part,  and 
badly  paid  at  that.  You  resume  your  liberty 
without  any  impediment. 

Let  us  hope  this  new  resolution  will  conduce  to 
our  greater  happiness.  JULIETTE. 


Tuesday,  April  28th, 
Four  hours  before  the  production  of  Angela. 
1  HIS  is  just  to  remind  you  of  my  love,  and  that 
it  will  only  be  purified  and  augmented  by  the  ill- 
luck  and  perfidy  to  which  you  are  more  exposed 
than  others,  my  noble  poet,  my  king — king  indeed 
of  us  all,  though  lover  only  of  me,  is  that  not  so? 
I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  you,  have  I,  my  dar- 
ling? You  will  take  care  of  yourself  and  resist 
the  advances  of  that  shameless  woman.  Promise 
me  this.  I  would  not  allude  to  it  to-day,  only  I 
feel  so  uneasy  at  the  thought  of  your  spending 
the  whole  evening  in  her  society  that  I  would  give 
my  life  to  prevent  it.  If  you  understood  the 
greatness  and  quality  of  my  love  you  would  ap- 
preciate my  alarm. 

Think  of  poor  me,  sitting  at  the  back  of  a  box 
to-night,  enduring  all  the  anguish  of  jealousy  and 
love.  JULIETTE. 

Madame  Pierceau  came  at  one  o'clock,  leav- 
193 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ing  Monsieur  Verdier  in  a  cab  below.  He  was 
desperate  at  the  ( loss  of  his  stall  which,  he 
hears,  was  taken  from  him  by  your  orders.  As 
I  did  not  know  what  to  say  about  it,  I  advised 
Madame  Pierceau  to  send  him  to  you.  Monsieur 
Pasquier,  as  I  anticipated,  has  not  taken  Madame 
Recamier's  box.  I  wonder  what  you  have  done 
with  it.  Did  it  reach  you  in  time? 


Midnight,  Tuesday,  28  April,  (1835). 
An  hour  after  the  triumph  of  Angela. 
JVlY    cup    is    full.     Bravo!    bravo!!    bravo!!! 
bravo!!!!  bravo!!!!!     For  the  first  time  I  have 
been  able  to  applaud  you  as  much  as  I  wished,  for 
you  were  not  there  to  prevent  it. 

Thank  you,  my  beloved!  Thank  you  for  my- 
self, whose  happiness  you  increase  with  every 
second  of  my  life,  and  thank  you  also  for  the 
crowd  that  was  there,  admiring,  listening  and 
appreciating  you. 

I  saw  and  heard  everything,  and  will  tell  you 
all  about  it ;  although  if  the  applause,  enthusiasm, 
and  delirium  could  be  measured  by  sheer  weight, 
my  load  would  indeed  be  heavy.  I  will  give  you 
full  details  of  the  performance  to-morrow,  for  I 
dare  not  hope  to  see  you  to-night ;  it  would  be  too 

194 


To  Victor  Hugo 

much  happiness  for  one  day  and  you  do  not  want 
me  to  go  mad  with  joy  ! 

Till  to-morrow,  then.  If  you  knew  how  con- 
scientiously I  clapped  Madame  Dorval,  you  would 
hesitate  to  say  or  do  anything  to  add  to  the  sore- 
ness I  already  feel  at  the  thought  that  another 
than  I  has  been  selected  to  interpret  your  noble 
sentiments.  There,  now  I  am  giving  way  to 
sadness  again,  because  you  are  with  that  woman  ! 

Good-night,  my  beloved.  Sleep  well,  my  poet, 
if  the  sound  of  the  great  chorus  of  praise  does  not 
prevent  it.  To  your  laurels  I  add  my  tender 
caresses  and  thousands  of  kisses. 

JULIETTE. 


Friday,  8  p.  m. 

IF  I  were  a  clever  woman,  my  gorgeous  bird,  I 
could  describe  to  you  how  you  unite  in  yourself 
the  beauties  of  form,  plumage  and  song  !  I  would 
tell  you  that  you  are  the  greatest  marvel  of  all 
ages,  and  I  should  only  be  speaking  the  simple 
truth.  But  to  put  all  this  into  suitable  words, 
my  superb  one,  I  should  require  a  voice  far  more 
harmonious  than  that  which  is  bestowed  upon  my 
species,  for  I  am  the  humble  owl  that  you  mocked 
at  only  lately.  Therefore,  it  cannot  be.  I  will 
not  tell  you  to  what  degree  you  are  dazzling  and 

195 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

resplendent;  I  leave  that  to  the  birds  of  sweet 
song  who,  as  you  know,  are  none  the  less  beauti- 
ful and  appreciative. 

I  am  content  to  delegate  to  them  the  duty  of 
watching,  listening  and  admiring,  while  to  myself 
I  reserve  the  right  of  loving;  this  may  be  less  at- 
tractive to  the  ear,  but  it  is  sweeter  far  to  the 
heart.  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  my  Victor ;  I  can- 
not reiterate  it  too  often;  I  can  never  express  it 
as  much  as  I  feel  it. 

I  recognize  you,  in  all  the  beauty  that  surrounds 
me — in  form,  in  color,  in  perfume,  in  harmonious 
sound;  all  of  these  mean  you  to  me.  You  are 
superior  to  them  all.  You  are  not  only  the  solar 
spectrum  with  the  seven  luminous  colors,  but  the 
sun  himself,  that  illumines,  warms  and  revivifies 
the  whole  world !  That  is  what  you  are,  and  I  am 
the  lowly  woman  who  adores  you. 

JULIETTE. 

If  you  are  coming  to  fetch  me  as  you  lead  me  to 
expect,  I  shall  see  you  very  soon  now.  I  have 
never  longed  more  ardently  for  you.  Lanvin  has 
just  come.  I  will  tell  you  about  it  when  I  see 
you. 

7.30  p.  m.,  Thursday  ( 1835). 

To  MY  DEAR  ABSENT  ONE: 

I  hardly  saw  you  this  morning.     I  have  not 
196 


To  Victor  Hugo 

seen  you  this  evening,  and  God  knows  what  time 
it  will  be  before  you  come  to  take  me  to  Angela 
— for  I  do  not  admit  the  possibility  of  a  single 
performance  taking  place  without  my  presence; 
besides  I  am  not  sorry  to  know  exactly  how  much 
time  you  spend  with  those  actresses  of  the  six- 
teenth century  and  those  of  the  nineteenth,  who 
are  no  less  dangerous.  There,  I  am  nearly  as  cross 
as  I  am  sad.  I  had  vowed  I  would  not  write  at 
length  to-day,  just  to  teach  you  not  to  throw  my 
letters  aside  without  reading  them.  My  self,  my 
letters,  forgotten!  You  certainly  manage  to  be 
the  most  worshiped  and  the  least  attentive  of 
lovers.  Oh,  you  do  not  care ! 

Never  mind,  I  am  sad.  I  am  longing  for  you 
to-night  as  the  poor  prisoner  hungers  for  his  pit- 
tance at  the  hour  he  is  accustomed  to  receive  it. 

But  you  are  indifferent — you  can  calmly  let  my 
soul  die  of  inanition — do  you  not  love  me,  then? 
Tell  me ! 

Well,  I  love  you.  I  love  you,  my  Victor.  I 
forgive  you  because  I  hope  it  is  not  your  fault, 
and  also  because  I  cannot  prevent  myself  from 
loving  you.  JULIETTE. 

12.  jo  p.  m.,  Tuesday  ( i#J5). 
Y  OU  hurt  me  a  little  bit  just  now,  my  Toto. 
While  I  was  sacrificing  the  happiness  of  being 

197 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

with  you  one  moment  longer  to  your  need  of  re- 
pose, you  were  worrying  about  trifles  and  not 
giving  me  a  thought  or  a  farewell.  In  moments 
like  those  I  am  forced  to  realize  that  you  do  not 
care  for  me  as  I  care  for  you,  and  I  feel  wretched 
in  consequence. 

Another  thing  I  have  observed  is  that  you 
never  allude  to  my  letters.  You  neither  notice 
the  complaints  I  make,  nor  the  love  I  shower  upon 
you  with  every  word.  You  have  turned  my 
happiness  and  content  into  sadness.  My  Toto, 
you  do  not  love  me  as  I  love  you.  You  have  ex- 
hausted your  faculty  of  loving.  I  tell  myself  that 
the  enthusiastic  and  passionate  devotion  you  once 
cherished  for  me  has  degenerated  into  mere  par- 
tiality— then  I  mourn  and  mope,  like  a  woman  be- 
trayed. 

If  you  knew  how  I  love  you,  my  Toto,  you 
would  understand  the  anguish  of  my  eagerness; 
you  would  pity  me,  and  instead  of  leaving  my 
letters  unanswered,  you  would  fly  to  me  the  mo- 
ment you  have  read  them,  to  reassure  and  comfort 
me  if  my  fears  are  unfounded. 

Never  mind,  I  give  you  a  thousand  kisses. 
How  many  will  you  waste? 

JULIETTE. 


198 


To  Victor  Hugo 

12. 30  p.  m.,  Tuesday 
MY  DEAR  LITTLE  TOTO: 

You  have  written  me  a  very  charming  letter. 
I  cannot  send  you  one  as  fascinating ;  all  I  can  do 
is  to  give  you  my  whole  heart  and  thoughts  and 
life. 

You  are  quite  right  when  you  say  that  I  shall 
soon  give  myself  to  you  again,  regardless  of  the 
sorrows  that  may  follow.  It  is  true,  for  I  could 
dispense  with  life  sooner  than  with  your  love. 

But  let  me  tell  you  again  the  joy,  surprise,  and 
happiness  your  letter  caused  me.  You  are  bet- 
ter than  I,  and  you  are  right  when  you  think  me 
an  old  idiot.  I  am  in  the  seventh  heaven  this 
morning.  You  have  never  given  me  so  much 
happiness,  my  dear  little  Toto.  I  am  so  grate- 
ful. I  cannot  love  you  more  in  return,  for  that 
were  impossible ;  but  I  can  appreciate  in  a  higher 
degree  your  worth  and  the  depth  of  your  affection 
for  me. 

You  are  my  dear  little  man,  my  lover,  my  god, 
my  adored  tyrant!  I  love  you,  adore  you,  think 
of  you,  desire  you,  call  upon  you. 

JULIETTE. 

Which  do  you  like  best,  quality  or  quantity? 


199 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

8.20  p.  m.,  Monday  ( 1835) . 

I  ADQRE  your  jealousy  when  it  gives  me  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  an  unaccustomed  hour, 
but  when  it  simply  consists  in  suspecting  me  with- 
out advantage  to  ourselves,  oh,  how  I  detest  it! 

You  were  rather  cross  to-day,  but  you  atoned 
so  well  by  coming  as  you  did,  that  I  would  will- 
ingly see  you  a  little  bit  unjust  to  me  every  day,  if 
it  entailed  the  pleasure  of  having  you  one  minute 
longer  in  the  evening. 

If  you  only  knew  how  true  it  is  that  I  love  you, 
you  could  never  be  jealous  or  admit  the  possibil- 
ity of  my  being  unfaithful  to  you;  and  again,  if 
you  knew  how  much  I  love  you,  you  would  come 
every  moment  of  the  day  and  of  the  night  to  sur- 
prise me  in  that  occupation,  and  you  would  ever 
be  welcomed  with  transports  of  joy. 

Yes,  yes,  I  love  you !  I  do  not  say  so  to  force 
you  to  believe  it,  but  because  I  crave  to  repeat  it 
with  every  breath,  with  every  word,  in  every  tone ; 
I  adore  you  much  more  than  you  can  ever  wish. 
I  love  you  above  all  things. 

JULIETTE. 

You  attach  too  little  importance  to  my  letters 
as  a  rule.  You  forget  that  fine  unguents  are  con- 
tained in  small  boxes,  great  love  in  trivial  words. 


200 


To  Victor  Hugo 

2  p.  m.,  Friday  (1835). 

YOU  want  a  huge  long  letter  .  .  .  and  yet  an- 
other huge  long  letter  .  .  .  you  are  not  very 
modest  in  your  requirements.  What  would  you 
say  if  I  asked  as  much  ?  You  who  write  to  every- 
one in  the  world  except  me.  I  have  a  great  mind 
to  treat  you  according  to  your  deserts  and  write 
only  as  much  as  you  write,  love  you  only  as  much 
as  you  love  me.  You  would  be  nicely  punished 
if  I  did  this.  But  do  not  fear,  I  should  never  play 
you  such  a  scurvy  trick.  I  am  too  much  in 
need  of  an  outlet  for  the  superabundance  of  my 
heart  to  venture  to  close  the  issue.  I  am  too  anx- 
ious to  tell  you  every  day  how  much  I  adore  you  to 
condemn  myself  to  silence.  I  long  too  much  to 
get  near  you,  in  thought  at  all  events,  to  afford 
to  cut  off  the  way  of  communication.  Now  that 
you  know  why  I  write  so  often  I  will  begin  my 
letter. 

My  dear  little  Toto,  although  it  is  not  long  since 
I  left  you  I  desire  you  with  all  the  impatience 
and  all  the  inclination  that  comes  of  a  long 
separation.  I  should  like  to  know  where  you 
are  and  what  you  are  doing;  I  should  like  to 
be  wherever  you  are,  and  above  all,  I  should  like 
to  be  in  your  heart  and  thoughts  as  you  are  in 
mine.  I  should  like  to  be  you,  and  you  me,  in 

20 1 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

respect  of  love.  The  rest  becomes  you  and  you 
only.  You  are  admired,  I  need  to  be  loved.  Are 
you  capable,  I  ask  you,  of  loving  me  as  much  as 
I  love  you,  or  half  as  much?  even  that  would  be 
mmeasurable.  If  you  only  knew  the  extent  of 
my  love,  you  would  love  me  only  for  that. 

I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,  love 
you. 

This  short  little  word  issuing  from  my  heart 
has  impetus  enough  to  mount  right  up  to  the 
heavens.  I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

I  have  received  a  letter  from  my  daughter. 
This,  combined  with  the  horrible  weather,  makes 
me  quite  happy. 


p  p.  m.  Friday 

Y  OU  gave  me  a  delicious  afternoon.  How  de- 
lightfully you  talked  !  I  am  not  alluding  to  your 
wit  ;  a  fly  does  not  seek  to  raise  an  ingot  of  gold  ! 
Neither  do  I  speak  of  the  happiness  of  leaning 
upon  your  arm,  listening  to  your  voice,  gazing 
into  your  eyes,  breathing  your  breath,  measuring 
my  steps  by  yours,  feeling  my  heart  beat  in  unison 
with  yours. 

There  can  be  no  happiness  greater  than  that  I 
enjoyed  this  afternoon  with  you,  clasped  in  your 
arms,  your  voice  mingling  with  mine,  your  eyes 

202 


^~ 


<£*o^_ 


jk'ra*  px-  J*»~  a***. .  ]£**&+ ' 
!£•*•       S*    &         *     '•  ~f 

/T   f»<-^    ju,* Zfr>  ,      6~» 


ONE  OF  JULIETTE   DROUET'S   LETTERS   TO   HER 
DAUGHTER   CLAIRE 


To  Victor  Hugo 

in  mine,  your  heart  upon  my  heart,  our  very  souls 
welded  together.  For  me,  there  is  no  man  on  this 
earth  but  you.  The  others  I  perceive  only  through 
your  love.  I  enjoy  nothing  without  you.  You 
are  the  prism  through  which  the  sunshine,  the 
green  landscape,  and  life  itself  appear  to  me. 
That  is  why  I  am  idle,  dejected  and  indifferent 
when  you  are  not  by  my  side.  I  do  not  know 
how  to  employ  either  my  body  or  my  soul,  away 
from  you.  I  only  come  to  life  again  in  your 
presence.  I  need  your  kisses  upon  my  lips,  your 
love  in  my  soul.  JULIETTE. 

ii  a.  m.,  Saturday  (1835). 
CjOOD  morning,  my  Victor. 

Let  me  first  kiss  you.  Of  all  the  promises  I 
made  you  yesterday  when  we  separated,  one  only 
has  been  broken.  I  promised  to  love  you  as  I 
loved  you  at  that  moment,  that  is  to  say  more  than 
all  the  world ;  but  I  do  not  know  how  it  happened, 
I  have  come  to  love  you  much  more!  and  I  feel 
it  will  be  so  as  long  as  I  shall  live.  I  beg  you, 
my  dear  little  Toto,  to  make  up  your  mind  to  this, 
as  I  have  already  done. 

Do  you  know,  my  blessed  Toto,  you  are  a  sec- 
ond little  Tom  Thumb,  far  more  marvelous  than 
your  prototype, — for,  not  merely  with  pebbles  or 

203 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

crumbs  of  bread  do  you  mark  the  roads  along' 
which  you  travel,  but  actually  with  jewels  and 
precious  stones.  I  shall  always  recognize  the 
spot  where  you  dropped  an  enormous  ruby  as 
big  as  a  flint,  yesterday,  with  as  much  indiffer- 
ence as  if  it  had  been  a  piece  of  grit  from  Fon- 
tainebleau. 

What  do  you  suppose  must  happen  to  an  insig- 
nificant creature  like  myself  in  the  presence  of  so 
much  wealth,  in  the  midst  of  the  enchantments 
of  your  mind;  will  she  lose  her  reason?  That  is 
already  done;  as  to  her  heart,  you  stole  it  from 
her  very  easily  and  therefore  nothing  remains  to 
the  poor  wight  but  what  is  already  yours. 

Her  love,  her  admiration,  her  life,  belong  to 
you!  my  glances,  words,  caresses,  kisses,  all  are 
yours.  JULIETTE. 


I  T  seems  to  be  always  my  turn  to  write  to  you 
now.  In  the  old  days  your  letters  called  forth 
my  letters,  your  love  mine  —  and  it  was  meet  that 
it  should  be  so,  for  as  you  have  often  said,  the  man 
should  be  the  pursuer  of  the  woman.  It  is  always 
awkward  when  a  change  of  roles  occurs,  and  I  am 
acutely  conscious  of  it.  I  feel  that  a  caress  from 

204 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  gives  me  far  more  happiness  and  security 
than  thousands  of  those  elicited  by  me. 

It  is  already  half-past  eleven  and  you  have  not 
arrived.  Perhaps  you  are  not  coming;  and  the 
prohibition  you  laid  upon  me  yesterday  against 
seeking  you  at  the  printing  works,  redoubles  my 
anxiety  and  jealousy.  I  fear  lest  some  untoward 
thing  may  have  befallen  you,  or  worse  still,  some 
agreeable  invitation  reached  you.  My  heart  is 
crushed  as  in  a  vice.  I  think  there  is  no  greater 
suffering  in  this  world  than  that  of  loving  yet 
fearing.  We  arrange  our  lives  very  badly. 
Since  you  are  not  a  free  agent  and  may  be  pre- 
vented from  seeing  me  by  thousands  of  circum- 
stances we  cannot  foresee,  you  should  at  least  al- 
low me  the  opportunity  of  knowing  what  you  are 
doing  and  where  you  are.  It  would  satisfy  me 
and  keep  me  content.  Instead  of  this  I  have  to 
wait  for  you,  a  prey  to  fears  that  tear  at  my 
heartstrings.  Alas,  I  am  to  be  pitied  for  loving 
you  so  intensely.  It  is  a  superabundance  that 
will  surely  kill  the  body  which  bears  it. 

If  you  love  me  only  moderately,  I  pray  God  to 
deprive  me  of  one  of  two  things :  either  my  life  or 
my  love.  JULIETTE. 

Nearly  midnight.    What  a  night  I  have  before 

me !     God  pity  me. 

205 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 


8.15  a.  m.,  Thursday,  September  i?th 

AT  METZ. 

G  OOD  morning,  my  Toto,  good  morning.  It 
is  magnificently  fine  and  we  shall  be  enormously 
happy.  We  are  going  to  resume  our  bird  life, 
our  life  of  love  and  freedom  in  the  woods.  I  am 
enchanted.  If  only  you  were  here,  I  should  kiss 
you  with  all  my  might  and  main,  as  a  reminder. 

What  sort  of  a  night  did  you  have?  Did  you 
love  me?  Have  you  been  writing  to  me  under 
the  old  chestnut  tree?  I  am  sure  you  have  not. 
You  scamp,  I  am  afraid  I  go  on  loving  you  in 
proportion  to  the  decrease  of  your  own  affection. 

I  was  not  able  to  read  late  last  night.  I  went 
to  bed  at  a  quarter  past  ten  and  had  horrid 
dreams.  I  trust  they  will  not  come  true,  but  I 
confess  I  should  be  glad  to  get  news  of  my  poor 
little  girl  whom  we  neglect  far  too  much.  If 
two  more  days  go  by  without  a  letter  I  shall  write 
to  Saumur,  for  I  am  really  worried  about  her. 

My  dear  little  Toto,  I  am  going  to  dress  now 
so  as  to  get  to  you  earlier.  I  love  you,  I  love  you 
with  all  my  strength  and  all  my  soul.  I  kiss  you  ! 
I  adore  you  !  Till  this  afternoon.  Your 

JULIETTE. 


206 


To  Victor  Hugo 

8.45  a.  m.,  Thursday,  September  2^th  (1835). 

AT  METZ. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  darling  Victor.  I  love 
you  and  am  happy,  for  we  are  going  to  be  more 
absolutely  together  than  was  possible  yesterday  or 
the  day  before,  when  an  inconvenient  third  dis- 
turbed our  privacy;  also  the  weather  is  glorious 
and  I  am  madly  in  love  with  you,  so  everything 
around  me  glows  radiant  and  beautiful. 

I  stayed  in  bed  until  8.30,  although  i  woke  up 
at  seven  o'clock;  but  I  just  rolled  lazily  about 
thinking  of  you  and  reading  yesterday's  news- 
papers. I  reached  home  exactly  at  seven  o'clock 
last  night,  undressed,  tidied  my  things,  dined, 
wrote  to  you,  did  my  accounts,  and  read  Claude 
Gueux  till  half  past  ten.  Then  I  put  my  hair 
into  curl-papers  and  got  into  bed  at  eleven  o'clock. 
I  went  to  you  in  spirit  and  dreamt  that  I  was 
kissing  Baby  Toto  and  making  big  Toto  jealous. 
This  is  the  complete  history  of  my  morning  up  to 
date;  now  I  shall  dress,  breakfast,  and  go  for  a 
walk  in  the  meadows  with  the  maid.  Farewell, 
dearest,  until  this  afternoon's  happiness.  Al- 
ways yours  in  love  and  longing. 

I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  I  embrace  you  in 
spirit,  I  adore  you  with  my  whole  soul,  I  admire 
you  with  every  faculty  of  my  mind.  Think  of 

207 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

me,  come  to  me,  come  to  me  as  soon  as  possible. 
My  arms,  my  cheek,  my  whole  being  await  you. 

j. 

At  Metz,  Thursday,  8.45  p.  m. 
MY  DEAR,  GOOD  TOTO: 

I  should  have  got  back  without  adventure  had 
I  not  met  an  enormous  and  horrific  toad  in  the 
road  which  sent  me  flying  home  shrieking  as  if 
the  devil  was  at  my  heels.  I  was  here  by  ten 
minutes  past  seven,  began  my  dinner  at  five 
minutes  past  eight  and  am  now  sitting  writing  to 
you  to  thank  you  for  all  the  bliss  you  lavish  upon 
me.  This  day,  drenched  with  rain  though  it  was, 
has  been  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  happiest  of 
my  whole  life.  If  there  had  been  rainbows  in  the 
sky,  they  would  be  reflected  in  our  hearts,  linking 
our  souls  together  in  thought  and  emotion. 

I  thank  you  for  drawing  my  attention  to  so 
many  lovely  things  I  should  never  notice  without 
your  assistance  and  the  touch  of  your  dear  white 
hand  upon  my  brow;  but  there  is  one  beauty 
greater  and  nobler  than  all  the  combined  ones  of 
heaven  and  earth,  for  the  recognition  of  which 
I  require  no  help — and  that  is  yourself,  my  best 
beloved,  your  personality  that  I  adore,  your  in- 
tellect that  enchants  and  dazzles  me.  Would 

208 


To  Victor  Hugo 

that  I  possessed  the  pen  of  a  poet,  to  describe  all 
I  think  and  feel!  But  alas,  I  am  only  a  poor 
woman  in  love,  and  such  a  condition  is  not  con- 
ducive to  brilliancy  of  expression ! 

Good-night,  my  adored  one,  good-night,  my 
darling.  Sleep  well.  I  send  you  a  thousand 
kisses.  J. 

11.5  a.  m.,  Monday,  September  24th,  1835. 

METZ. 

vjREAT  indeed  was  our  misfortune  yesterday! 
I  agree  with  you  in  that,  my  Victor,  because  I 
love  you.  For  over  a  year  I  have  suffered  much ; 
oftener  than  not,  without  complaint.  I  always 
trusted  that  my  love  and  fidelity  would  engender 
in  you  feelings  of  esteem  and  confidence,  but  now 
that  hope  is  for  ever  at  an  end;  for,  far  from 
diminishing,  your  suspicion  and  contempt  have 
grown  to  terrible  dimensions.  You  love  me,  I 
know,  and  I  worship  you  with  all  the  strength  of 
my  being.  You  are  the  only  man  I  have  ever 
loved,  the  only  one  to  whom  I  have  ever  given 
this  assurance.  Yet  I  now  implore  you  on  my 
knees  to  let  me  go.  I  cannot  urge  this  too 
strongly.  You  see,  my  dear,  I  am  so  wretched, 
so  humiliated,  and  I  suffer  so  acutely  that  I  shall 
have  to  leave  you,  even  against  your  will,  so  it 

209 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

would  be  kinder  of  you  to  give  your  consent,  that 
I  may  at  least  have  the  sad  satisfaction,  if  I  must 
forsake  you,  of  knowing  that  I  have  not  disobeyed 
you. 

Farewell,  my  joy,  farewell,  my  life,  farewell, 
my  soul!  I  leave  you,  for  the  very  sake  of  our 
love — I  offer  this  sacrifice  on  behalf  of  us  both. 
Later  you  will  understand.  But  before  bidding 
you  a  last  good-by,  I  swear  to  you  that  during 
the  last  year  I  have  not  committed  one  single 
action  I  need  blush  for,  nor  harbored  one  guilty 
thought.  I  tell  you  this  from  the  bottom  of  my 
heart.  You  may  believe  it. 

I  shall  go  to  my  child,  for  I  am  anxious  about 
her  since  she  has  been  at  Saumur.  Perhaps  I 
may  bring  her  back  with  me.  I  think  I  was  very 
wrong  to  send  her  away.  I  mean  to  repair  my 
fault  if  there  is  yet  time.  The  pretext  of  her 
health  will  be  sufficient  before  the  world.  My 
heart  shall  be  dumb  upon  all  that  concerns  you. 
I  will  keep  everything  to  myself.  I  must  work. 
If  you  can  do  anything  to  help  me,  it  will  be  good 
of  you.  I  mention  this  to  you  for  the  first  and 
last  time,  for  if  you  were  to  forget  me,  you  know 
very  well  that  I  should  be  the  last  to  venture  to 
recall  myself  to  you. 

Good-by  again,  my  friend,  good-by,  for  ever! 
210 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  have  been  copying  your  little  book,  hoping  you 
would  be  generous  enough  to  leave  it  with  me. 
Good-by  !  good-by  !  Do  not  suffer,  do  not  weep, 
do  not  think,  do  not  accuse  yourself  !  I  love  and 
forgive  you.  JULIETTE. 


Met  z,  Saturday,  7.30  p.  m.  (October, 
YOU  were  in  a  great  hurry  to  leave  me  to-night, 
my  best-beloved.  If  consideration  for  me  was 
your  motive,  it  was  high-handed  and  blundering 
of  you,  for  I  never  enjoyed  myself  more  than  this 
evening,  and  until  the  moment  you  left  me  so 
abruptly,  I  had  never  so  savored  the  happiness  of 
being  with  you  in  the  highways  and  byways. 

I  therefore  returned  home  sadly  and  thought- 
fully. I  have  begun  my  letter  to-night  with 
diminished  joy  and  confidence  in  the  future,  for 
your  hurry  to  leave  me  weighs  upon  me  and  I 
cannot  explain  it  satisfactorily  to  myself. 

I  came  in  at  a  quarter  past  six,  suffering 
greatly  from  indigestion.  The  maid  told  me 
someone  had  called  for  the  dog  —  two  gentlemen 
who  seemed  much  attached  to  it.  Poor  brute,  it 
was  a  wrong  instinct  that  led  it  to  follow  us;  I 
have  no  doubt  it  is  expiating  its  offense  in  hunger 
and  cold  at  this  very  moment.  I  am  somehow 
unduly  interested  in  the  fate  of  the  poor  thing. 

211 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  feel  something  beyond  ordinary  pity  for  it;  it 
makes  me  think  of  the  fate  and  future  in  store 
for  a  poor  girl  we  both  know:  she  also  follows 
step  by  step  a  master  who  will  have  no  scruple  in 
casting  her  adrift  when  his  duty  to  society  proves 
as  pressing  and  sacred  as  that  which  called  him 
away  to-night. 

I  am  depressed,  my  dear  friend,  and  unwell. 
The  oppression  on  my  chest  is  increasing.  I  hope 
your  sore  throat  will  diminish  in  proportion  to 
what  I  am  enduring.  Providence  is  too  just  to 
allow  such  cumulation  of  suffering.  Good-night 
— sleep  well  and  think  of  me  if  you  can.  As  for 
loving  me,  that  is  another  question;  one's  emo- 
tions cannot  grow  to  order.  I  love  you. 

' '       S J- 

Sunday,  8  p.  m.,  1835. 

M.  Y  dear  darling,  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the 
rapture  with  which  I  listened  to  the  two  sublime 
poems  you  recited  to  me,  one  on  the  first  Revolu- 
tion and  the  other  on  the  two  Napoleons. 

But  where  can  your  equal  be  found  on  earth! 
.  .  .  My  dear  little  Toto,  do  not  laugh  at  me.  I 
feel  so  many  things  I  cannot  express,  much  less 
write.  I  love  and  revere  you,  and  when  I  reflect 
upon  what  you  are,  I  marvel !  Since  you  left  me 

212 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  have  read  over  again  Napoleon  the  Second.  I 
shall  never  tire  of  it.  It  is  going  to  bed  with  me 
now. 

You  told  me  to  wait  for  you  till  9.30,  after  that 
hour  I  shall  go  to  bed.  If  you  should  happen  to 
come  later  I  will  open  the  door  to  you  myself,  as 
you  have  forgotten  the  key.  I  want  to  do  it,  that 
I  may  not  lose  one  second  of  the  happiness  of 
having  you  with  me.  Sleep  well  —  good-night  — 
do  not  suffer  —  do  not  work  —  sleep  ! 

JULIETTE. 


Wednesday,  8.30  p.  m., 

1  AM  half  afraid  of  taking  too  literally  your  re- 
quest for  a  daily  letter:  tell  me  seriously  how  I 
am  to  interpret  it,  so  that  I  may  not  make  myself 
ridiculous  by  overwhelming  you  with  letters  you 
do  not  want.  Tell  me  the  truth  once  for  all,  so 
that  I  may  know  where  I  am,  and  may  give  my- 
self up  without  restraint  to  the  pleasure  of  telling 
you  and  writing  to  you  that  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart,  and  that  you  alone  constitute  my  sole 
joy,  my  sole  happiness  and  my  sole  future.  If 
you  can  experience  only  one  quarter  of  the  bliss 
in  reading,  that  I  shall  feel  in  inditing  my  scrib- 
ble, you  shall  receive  some  of  my  prose  every  day, 

213 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

but  in  limited  quantities,  calculated  not  to  wear 
out  your  patience. 

And  in  order  to  demonstrate  my  powers  of  self- 
restraint  I  will  limit  myself  to  six  trillions  of 
kisses  for  your  beautiful  mouth.  Besides,  here 
you  are !  I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  Dec.  2d,  1835. 
MY  BELOVED: 

When  one  is  ill  and  feverish  everything  tastes 
bitter  to  the  lips  and  palate.  I  am  in  that  posi- 
tion. I  am  abominably  miserable,  and  all  the 
sweet  words  you  lavish  upon  me  seem  tainted. 
But  I  have  enough  sense  left  to  realize  that  it  is 
my  condition  that  prevents  me  from  relishing  the 
full  meed  of  happiness  you  are  able  to  give  me  in 
one  moment.  Forgive  me  for  suffering,  and  for 
not  having  the  strength  or  generosity  to  conceal 
it  from  you;  it  is  only  because  I  suffer  too  much 
and  love  you  too  much,  which  is  the  same  thing. 

I  promise  to  be  very  cheerful  to-night  and  to 
disguise  my  feelings.  I  have  read  everything 
concerning  you  in  the  papers,  and  I  cannot  help 
suspecting  that  a  passage  about  you  and  your 
work  has  been  purposely  cut  out.  If  this  is  so, 
you  had  much  better  tell  me,  for  I  am  quite  equal 
to  bearing  the  truth  and  even  to  hearing  lies ;  so 

214 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  beg  you  to  tell  me  what  was  in  that  newspaper, 
and  thus  spare  me  the  trouble  of  procuring  an- 
other copy.  You  must  indeed  be  happy  and 
proud  on  behalf  of  the  person  to  whom  you  are 
supposed  to  have  dedicated  your  sublime  poem. 
The  article  by  Monsieur  F.  Dugue  seems  singu- 
larly well-informed  about  your  restoration  to  the 
domestic  hearth.  I  am  apparently  not  the  only 
one  who  notices  that  for  the  last  year  you  have 
been  changing  your  habits  and  feelings,  though  I 
am  probably  the  only  one  who  will  die  of  grief  in 
consequence — but  what  matter,  so  long  as  the 
domestic  hearth  remains  cheerful  and  the  family 
happy. 

I  hope  you  will  do  your  best  to  come  and  see 
me  to-morrow  during  the  intervals  of  the  per- 
formance unless  the  salutations  you  have  to  make 
and  the  compliments  and  admiration  you  must 
acknowledge  should  detain  you  against  your  will ; 
in  which  case  I  hope  I  may  be  brave  enough  not 
to  be  too  sorrowful,  and  reasonable  enough  not 
to  let  my  great  love  hang  upon  such  trifles. 

You  see,  my  dear  angel,  I  bow  to  the  arguments 
you  impress  on  me.  I  am  no  longer  sad,  neither 
do  I  suffer.  I  love  you,  that  is  the  truest  word  of 
all.  JULIETTE. 


215 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 


8.45  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  December  i$th, 

OF  course,  my  darling,  you  did  right  to  come 
back,  whatever  your  reason  might  be;  but  the 
pleasure  of  your  visit  was  quite  spoilt  by  your 
inquiry  as  to  how  I  spend  my  time,  when  it  is  self- 
evident  that  my  conduct  is  irreproachable. 

It  may  surprise  you  that  I  should  have  borne 
the  inquisition  you  habitually  subject  me  to,  with 
less  equanimity  to-day  than  usual.  I  own,  my 
poor  angel,  that  I  do  not  know  why  it  should  be 
so.  Perhaps  I  am  like  the  cripple  who  feels  pain 
in  the  leg  which  has  been  cut  off,  long  after  he 
has  lost  it.  I  often  suffer  over  my  past  life, 
though  the  present  is  so  widely  different.  I 
suffer,  not  from  variations  of  temperature,  but 
from  the  variations  of  your  love  which  seems  to 
grow  daily  colder  and  more  gloomy.  If  I  am 
mistaken,  forgive  and  pity  me,  but  if,  as  I  fear, 
I  make  no  error,  tell  me  so  frankly,  and  I  shall  be 
grateful  for  your  sincerity.  You  see,  my  poor 
friend,  I  cannot  believe  that  your  jealousy  is  other 
than  an  insulting  mistrust  of  us  both.  I  have 
watched  you  carefully  for  the  last  six  months,  and 
I  can  see  quite  well  that  although  your  love  is 
gradually  waning,  your  supervision  becomes  ever 
more  active  and  more  fidgety.  If  I  were  abso- 
lutely sure  of  what  I  suspect,  I  should  not  say 

216 


To  Victor  Hugo 

this  to  you — I  should  go  away  at  once  and  you 
would  never  hear  of  me  again — but  if  by  chance 
I  were  wrong  and  you  still  care  for  me,  such  a 
course  would  entail  frightful  sorrow  upon  us 
both ;  therefore  I  remain,  preferring  to  incur  your 
hatred  and  contempt,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of 
grieving  you. 

There,  my  poor  angel,  is  the  attitude  of  mind 
and  heart  in  which  you  found  me  this  evening ;  it 
will  explain  why  I  received  your  questions  so 
badly,  although  I  was  grateful  for  your  presence. 
You  see,  my  head  and  heart  are  weary.  If  you 
are  not  careful,  some  calamity  resulting  from  this 
condition  will  overtake  and  crush  you  at  a  mo- 
ment when  neither  you  nor  I  will  be  able  to  pre- 
vent it.  I  give  you  this  warning  in  all  sincerity, 
but  with  the  intimate  conviction  that  it  will  not 
affect  you.  As  long  as  you  feel  I  belong  to  you 
wholly  and  entirely,  you  are  as  indifferent  to  my 
sufferings,  as  to  my  happiness.  J. 

8.30,  Wednesday  February  $d,  1836. 

IF  I  have  grieved  you,  my  beloved,  I  beg  you  to 
forgive  me,  for  I  know  your  position  is  awkward 
and  demands  much  consideration,  especially  from 
me.  Besides,  why  should  I  complain  of  my  mode 
of  life  more  to-day  than  yesterday?  I  accept  my 

217 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

position  without  regret,  therefore  there  is  no 
reason  for  questioning  an  arrangement  which 
only  you  can  alter. 

I  cannot  help  noticing  that  your  love  is  not 
what  it  was.  I  may  say  I  am  sure  of  it,  if  I  judge 
from  the  impatient  words  you  occasionally  utter 
half  against  your  will  and  from  other  signs  it 
would  take  too  long  to  commit  to  paper.  I  cer- 
tainly possess  a  devoted  Victor,  but  no  longer  the 
lover  Victor  of  former  days.  If  it  is  as  I  fear,  it 
becomes  your  duty  to  leave  me  at  once ;  for  I  have 
never  wished  to  live  with  you  otherwise  than  as 
an  adored  mistress, — certainly  not  as  a  woman 
dependent  upon  a  man  whose  passion  is  spent.  I 
want  no  pension.  I  demand  my  place  in  your 
heart  apart  from  any  feeling  of  duty  or  gratitude. 
That  is  what  I  desire  as  earnestly  as  I  long  to  be 
a  faithful  woman  submissive  to  your  every  whim, 
whether  just  or  unjust. 

If  I  have  hurt  your  feelings,  my  dearly  beloved, 
I  plead  for  pardon  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
If  you  have  to  acknowledge  a  decrease  in  your 
love,  be  brave  enough  to  do  so  frankly  and  do 
not  leave  to  me  the  frightful  task  of  guessing  it 
— but  if  you  care  for  me  as  much  as  ever,  say  it 
again  and  again,  for  I  doubt  it,  alas,  and  in  love 
doubt  is  more  painful  a  thousand  times  than  the 

218 


To  Victor  Hugo 

most  heartbreaking  certainty.  Farewell,  I  wor- 
ship you.  J. 

8.1 $  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  February  ifth,  1836. 

YOU  must  think  me  either  very  cruel  or  very 
blind,  my  beloved.  I  think  perhaps  it  would  be 
best  for  you  to  accept  the  latter  hypothesis.  I 
love  you,  which  means  that  I  am  jealous,  but  as 
my  jealousy  is  in  proportion  to  my  love,  my  doubts 
and  frenzy  are  more  vivid,  more  bitter  than  those 
of  ordinary  women  who  are  only  capable  of  an 
ordinary  affection.  Very  well — I  am  cruel !  So 
be  it!  I  detest  every  wToman  upon  whom  your 
glances  rest.  I  feel  capable  of  hating  all  women, 
young  and  old,  plain  and  handsome,  if  I  suspect 
that  they  have  dared  raise  their  eyes  to  your 
splendid  and  noble  features.  I  am  jealous  of  the 
very  pavement  upon  which  you  tread  and  the  air 
you  breathe.  The  stars  and  sun  alone  are  be- 
yond my  jealousy  because  their  radiance  can  be 
eclipsed  by  one  single  flash  from  your  eyes. 

I  love  you  as  the  lioness  loves  her  mate ;  I  love 
you  like  a  passionate  woman,  ready  to  yield  up 
her  life  at  your  slightest  gesture.  I  love  you  with 
the  soul  and  intelligence  God  has  lent  His  crea- 
tures to  enable  them  to  appreciate  exceptional  men 
like  yourself.  That  is  why,  my  glorious  Victor, 

219 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

at  one  and  the  same  moment  I  can  rage,  weep, 
crawl  or  stand  erect ;  I  bow  my  head  and  venerate 
you! 

There  are  days  when  one  can  fix  one's  'gaze 
upon  the  sun  itself  without  being  blinded ;  thus  it 
is  with  me  now.  I  see  you,  I  am  dazzled,  en- 
tranced, and  I  grasp  your  beauty  in  all  its  splen- 
dor. JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.,  Thursday,  August  2$th,  1836, 
oINCE  you  leave  me  here  all  by  myself,  my  be- 
loved, I  shall  think  only  of  you,  and  in  proof  of 
this  I  will  scribble  all  over  this  virgin  sheet  of 
white  paper.  It  is  barbarous  of  you  to  let  me 
grow  fatter  than  I  already  am,  by  leaving  me  to 
dawdle  at  my  fire-side  instead  of  taking  me  out 
to  walk  and  get  thin. 

I  am  in  love  with  you,  but  you  do  not  care  a 
bit.  I  am  very  sad  not  to  have  you  with  me, 
doubly  so  when  I  think  that  it  is  on  account  of  a 
Play  in  which  I  am  to  have  no  part  after  all  the 
time  I  have  waited  and  endured.  When  I  reflect 
seriously  upon  this,  my  despair  makes  me  long  to 
fly  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  world.  It  is  so 
necessary  that  I  should  think  of  my  future.  I 
have  wasted  so  much  time  waiting  that  it  almost 
spells  ruin  to  me  that  you  should  produce  a  piece 

220 


To  Victor  Hugo 

in  which  I  may  not  play.  You  see,  my  dearest, 
I  am  not  as  generous  as  you  thought ;  I  am  afraid 
I  can  no  longer  disguise  from  you  the  injury  it 
does  me  to  be  three  years  out  of  the  theatrical 
world  while  you  are  bringing  out  Plays.  Forgive 
me,  but  I  have  a  horror  of  poverty  and  would  do 
anything  in  reason  to  evade  it.  I  love  you. 

JULIETTE. 

8.30  p.  m.,  Friday,  March  nth,  1836. 
DEAR  LITTLE  SOUL: 

You  are  quite  happy  I  hope  now  that  you  pos- 
sess the  keys  of  Paradise.  I  had  a  few  more 
difficulties  to  encounter  after  you  went  away,  but 
they  were  of  no  consequence.  Now  that  our  little 
palace  is  nearly  finished,  my  angel,  I  hope  we  shall 
celebrate  the  event  in  the  usual  way — but  I  must 
first  rest  a  little  and  nurse  myself  up,  for  I  am 
really  quite  worn  out  with  the  dirt  and  litter.  I 
am  afraid  to  look  at  you  or  touch  you  in  your 
beauty  and  purity  and  charm,  while  I  am  so  ugly 
and  untidy  and  exhausted  that  I  hardly  know  my- 
self as  your  Juju.  But  it  will  not  last.  My  foul- 
ness will  fall  from  me  and  reveal  me  dressed  as 
in  the  fairy-tale  in  garments  of  blue  bordered  with 
golden  stars  and  a  prince  will  marry  me  after 
tasting  of  my  cooking.  Splendid !  but  meanwhile 

221 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

you  must  graciously  permit  me  to  go  on  loving 
you,  stains  and  all !  Shut  your  eyes  to  the  com- 
mon lamp  that  guards  the  flame.  If  you  will 
wait,  you  shall  see  that  when  we  reach  the  heaven 
above  us,  I  shall  be  as  resplendent  as  yourself. 
Meanwhile,  I  drop  a  kiss  upon  your  shoes,  even  if 
it  entails  your  having  them  blacked  again. 

j. 

7.45  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  March  2$d,  1836. 

No  doubt,  dear  angel,  I  ought  to  disguise  in 
your  presence  the  sadness  that  overwhelms  me 
when  I  have  to  wait  too  long  for  you;  but  the 
late  hour  at  which  you  generally  come  makes  it 
difficult  for  me  to  forget  the  weary  suspense  I 
have  already  been  through,  and  am  to  endure 
again  shortly. — I  love  you,  my  dear, — indeed  I 
love  you  too  much.  We  often  say  this  lightly,  but 
I  assure  you  that  this  time  I  state  it  in  full  gravity 
and  knowledge,  for  I  feel  it  to  the  very  marrow  of 
my  bones.  I  love  you.  I  am  jealous,  I  hate  being 
poor  and  devoid  of  talent,  for  I  fear  that  these 
deficiencies  will  cost  me  your  love.  Still  I  am 
conscious  of  something  within  me,  greater  than 
either  wealth  or  intellect — but  is  it  powerful 
enough  to  rivet  you  to  me  for  ever !  I  ask  myself 
this  question  night  and  day,  and  you  are  not  at 

222 


To  Victor  Hugo 

hand  to  soothe  my  unrest;  hence  the  sadness  that 
wounds  you,  the  jealousy  that  amazes  you,  the 
mental  torment  you  are  incapable  of  understand- 
ing. 

But  I  love  you  all  the  same,  and  am  happy  in 
the  midst  of  my  pain;  I  smile  through  my  tears, 
for  I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.m.,  Saturday,  March  26th,  1836. 
VjOOD  morning,  my  little  darling  Toto. 

I  am  up  at  cock-crow,  though  very  tired,  but  I 
want  to  be  ready  to  witness  your  new  triumph; 
for,  beloved  Toto  of  mine,  you  are  the  great  Toto, 
the  greatest  man  on  earth. 

How  I  love  you,  my  Victor!  I  am  jealous. 
Even  your  success  makes  me  uneasy  with  the 
dread  that  amongst  so  much  adulation  you  may 
overlook  the  humble  homage  of  your  poor  Juju. 
I  fear  that  these  universal  acclamations  may 
drown  my  lowly  cry  of:  I  love  you!  This  ap- 
prehension becomes  an  obsession  on  such  a  day 
as  this  when  everything  is  at  your  feet,  caresses, 
adoration,  frenzy.  Ah,  why  are  you  not  insignifi- 
cant and  unknown  like  myself!  I  should  then 
have  no  need  to  fear  that  the  torch  of  my  love 
would  be  eclipsed  by  that  immense  illumination. 

Try,  beloved,  to  keep  a  little  place  in  your  heart 
223 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

for  the  love  and  admiration  of  your  poor  mistress 
who  has  loved  you  from  the  day  she  first  set  eyes 
upon  you,  and  who  will  worship  you  as  long  as 
the  breath  remains  in  her  body. 

JULIETTE. 

6. 15  p.  m.,  Saturday,  March  26th,  1836. 
JL<ET  me  tell  you  once  again  that  I  love  you,  my 
Victor.  Presently  thousands  of  voices  will  be 
raised  in  a  chorus  of  praise.  I  alone  say :  /  love 
you.  You  are  my  joy,  the  light  of  my  eyes,  the 
treasure  of  my  life,  you  are  YOU.  This  evening, 
my  adored  one,  whatever  you  say  or  do,  I  must 
be  jealous  and  wretched.  Be  merciful  to  me,  do 
not  let  me  suffer  too  cruelly.  If  you  think  of  me, 
when  you  are  absent  I  shall  be  conscious  of  it 
— if  you  love  me,  I  shall  feel  it  upon  my  heart  like 
beneficent  balm  upon  a  raw  wound. 

Farewell,  dear  soul,  it  is  impossible  to  wish  an 
increase  of  beauty  to  the  man,  or  more  glory  to 
the  genius,  so  if  you  are  happy,  so  am  I.  Fare- 
well, then,  dearest,  I  cannot  refrain  from  sending 
a  word  of  love  to  the  lover  before  going  to  applaud 
the  poet.  The  heart  must  have  its  due  share. 

Good-by  till  later.  For  ever,  for  life  and  until 
death,  love,  nothing  but  love !  J. 

224 


To  Victor  Hugo 

7.45  p.  m.,  Sunday,  March  2?th,  1836. 
I  HARDLY  dare  speak  to  you  to-night  of  love. 
I  feel  humiliated  by  my  devotion,  for  all  those 
women  seem  to  be  rivals  preferred  before  me.  I 
surfer,  but  I  do  not  hold  you  responsible.  I  feel 
worse  even  than  usual  this  evening.  I  did  not 
venture  to  ask  what  you  had  written  to 
Madame  Dorval,  for  I  was  afraid  to  discover 
some  fresh  reason  for  bitterness  and  jealousy,  so 
I  remained  silent. 

My  dear  treasure,  you  are  very  lucky  not  to  be 
jealous:  you  have  no  competition  to  fear  with  any 
other  celebrity,  for  there  is  none  besides  yourself, 
and  you  know  that  I  love  you  with  my  whole 
heart,  whereas  all  I  can  be  sure  of  is  that  I  love 
you  far  too  much  to  hope  to  be  loved  in  propor- 
tion. Besides  this  I  feel  that  I  shall  never  be 
capable  of  raising  the  heavy  stone  under  which 
my  intellect  slumbers. 

Forgive  me,  I  am  sad ;  I  am  worse  than  sad — I 
am  ashamed,  because  I  am  jealous.  I  am  an  idiot, 
and  consequently,  I  am  in  love ! 

JULIETTE. 

8.30  p.  m.,  Thursday,  April  ifih,  1836. 
1  LOVE  you,  my  dear  Victor,  and  you  make  me 
very  unhappy  when  you  seem  to  doubt  it.     It  is 

225 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

still  harder  for  me  when  you  put  your  want  of 
confidence  into  words,  for  I  can  only  attribute  it 
to  the  sacrifices  you  constantly  make  for  me  and 
which  probably  cause  you  to  think  that  an  ignoble 
motive  constrains  me  to  remain  under  your  pro- 
tection. In  addition  to  thus  wounding  me  in  the 
most  sensitive  part  of  my  love,  you  exasperate  me 
to  a  point  I  cannot  describe,  because  it  is  true  that 
I  have  not  the  wherewithal  to  live  independently 
of  you  and  your  influence.  Therefore,  my  poor 
angel,  when  you  show  your  suspicions  of  my  sin- 
cerity I  read  into  them  more  than  jealousy  and  ill- 
will  ;  I  imagine  a  reproach  against  my  dependent 
position ;  I  feel  an  overwhelming  need  to  prove  to 
you  by  any  means  that  you  are  mistaken  in  the 
woman  and  her  love.  Remember  your  burnt  let- 
ters! You  know  what  a  doubt  on  your  part  led 
me  to  do  on  one  occasion.  Well,  angel,  I  tell  you 
honestly  that  when  you  question  not  only  my  fidel- 
ity, but  also  my  love,  I  long  to  fly  to  the  other 
side  of  the  world,  there  to  exist  as  best  I  can  and 
never  pronounce  your  name  again  for  the  rest  of 
my  life.  This  will  be  the  last  proof  of  love  I  can 
give  you,  and  at  least  you  will  not  be  able  to  ac- 
cuse me  then  of  self-interest  and  self-love.  You 
hurt  me  terribly  to-night ;  you  often  do,  and  gen- 

226 


I 

To  Victor  Hugo 

erally  when  I  am  most  tender  and  demonstrative 
towards  you. 

Yet  I  love  you.  J. 

8  />.  m.,  Tuesday,  April  ipth,  1836. 

BELOVED: 

I  am  perfectly  certain  you  will  not  come  to 
fetch  me  to  see  Lucrece  and  I  am  already  resigned. 
There  is  only  one  thing  I  shall  never  submit  to, 
and  that  is  the  loss  of  your  love.  I  know, 
you  are  devoted,  that  you  lavish  friendship 
upon  me,  but  I  feel  that  you  have  no  more  love  to 
give  me,  and  I  cannot  bear  it.  During  the  four 
months  I  have  been  alone,  ill  for  the  most  part,  I 
never  knew  whether  the  time  would  come  when 
you  would  be  impelled  to  say  to  me,  Take  cour- 
age, for  I  love  you.  I  would  have  given  life  it- 
self to  find  those  words  in  your  handwriting  at  my 
bedside  in  the  morning  or  on  my  pillow  at  night. 
I  waited  in  vain,  they  never  came;  my  sorrow 
grew  and  now  I  am  certain  that  you  have  ceased 
to  care  for  me. 

I  know  what  you  will  say,  Victor — you  will 
tell  me  that  you  are  hard  at  work,  that  you  do 
everything  for  me,  and  do  not  let  me  want  for 
anything;  to  that  I  reply  that  I  have  been  just  as 

227 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

busy  or  busier  than  you,  yet  have  always  found 
time  to  show  you  the  outward  signs  of  my  inward 
love.  I  may  also  tell  you  that  without  your  love 
I  do  want  for  everything,  and  that  my  life  is  ut- 
terly wretched  without  it.  Lastly  I  declare  to 
you  that  if  you  continue  to  be  so  reasonably  kind 
and  attentive  I  will  release  you  from  your  self- 
imposed  burden  at  some  moment  when  you  least 
expect  it,  and  for  evermore.  I  must  have  true 
love  or  nothing.  JULIETTE. 

7.45  p.  m.,  Monday,  May  2d,  1836. 
JVlY  DEAR  LITTLE  BELOVED: 

I  am  sorry  to  find  that  you  are  not  as  con- 
vinced as  I  am  of  the  propriety  of  giving  me  your 
portrait. 

I  confess  I  feel  the  greatest  disappointment 
when  I  realize  from  your  daily  evasion  of  my 
request  that  I  shall  probably  never  become  the 
possessor  of  the  picture  which  is  so  like  you,  nor 
even  perhaps  of  a  copy  of  the  original.  I  am  sad 
and  dejected.  I  think  you  do  not  care  enough  for 
me,  a  poor  disinherited  creature,  to  do  me  the 
favor  you  have  already  bestowed  upon  another 
who  already  has  her  full  meed  of  the  gifts  of 
life.  I  am  therefore  greatly  disappointed.  I  had 
counted  upon  having  the  portrait  and  had  antici- 

228 


To  Victor  Hugo 

pated  much  happiness  from  its  possession;  the 
contemplation  of  it  would  have  so  greatly  con- 
tributed to  my  courage  and  resignation  that  it  is 
very  grievous  to  have  to  renounce  it  thus  suddenly 
without  any  compensation. 

If  I  wanted  to  speak  of  other  things  now,  I 
could  not;  my  heart  is  heavy,  my  eyes  overflow 
with  tears,  I  can  only  find  bitter  words  for  the 
expression  of  my  wounded  love. 

I  love  you  more  to-day  than  I  have  ever  done 
before,  yet  I  am  not  happy. 

JULIETTE. 

7.45  a.  m.,  Friday,  May  soth,  1836. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  dear  little  Toto. 

You  failed  me  again  last  night,  so  I  shall  never 
count  upon  you  again.  I  loved  you  with  all  my 
strength  and  thought  of  you  even  in  my  sleep; 
this  morning  I  love  you  with  my  whole  soul  and 
heartily  long  for  you,  but  I  know  you  will  not 
come,  so  I  am  cross  and  sad. 

How  fine  the  weather  is,  my  Toto,  and  how 
happy  we  could  be  in  the  fresh  air,  on  the  high 
road,  in  a  nice  little  carriage,  with  a  month  of 
happiness  in  prospect:  it  would  be  Paradise,  but 
.  .  .  but  ...  I  dare  not  set  my  heart  upon  it 
for  I  should  go  crazy  with  grief  if  the  treat  were 

229 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  be  withheld.  At  all  events,  I  am  ready  to  start ; 
my  foot  is  well  again  and  we  can  set  off  to-night 
or  to-morrow  morning  at  whatever  time  suits  you. 
I  am  quite  ready,  let  us  therefore  seize  our  chance 
of  the  fine  weather. 

My  adored  one,  I  am  dying  to  make  this  expe- 
dition. .  .  .  Do  try  to  get  free  at  the  earliest  mo- 
ment possible.  I  shall  be  so  happy.  I  still  love 
you  ever  so  much.  I  need  you  terribly.  My 
heart  is  more  than  ready  for  the  happiness  you 
will  give  me  during  the  whole  time  we  shall  be 
together.  JULIETTE. 

12.45  P-  m->  Thursday,  July  2ist,  1836. 
ONCE  more  I  am  reduced  to  writing  all  that  is 
in  my  heart,  my  adored  one.  It  is  but  a  slender 
satisfaction  after  the  bliss  we  have  been  enjoying. 
Nevertheless  we  must  take  life  as  we  find  it  and 
it  would  be  ungracious  of  me  to  complain.  A 
month  like  the  one  we  have  just  spent  would  com- 
pensate for  a  whole  lifetime  of  misfortune  and 
worry.  Poor  angel,  since  you  left  me  I  feel  lost 
and  alone  in  the  world.  You  cannot  imagine  the 
utter  void,  surrounded  as  you  are  at  this  moment 
by  the  affection  of  charming  children  and  devoted 
friends,  while  I  am  alone  with  my  love — that  is  to 
say,  alone  in  space — for  my  love  has  no  limits. 

230 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  seek  what  consolation  I  can  by  speaking  to  you 
and  writing  to  you.  Your  handkerchief,  breath- 
ing of  you,  lies  by  my  side,  with  your  adored 
name  embroidered  in  the  corner ;  I  caress  and  talk 
to  it,  and  we  understand  each  other  perfectly. 
For  every  kiss  I  press  upon  it,  it  exhales  your 
sweet  aroma;  it  is  as  if  I  scented  your  very  soul. 
Then  I  weep  as  one  does  in  a  beautiful  dream 
from  which  one  fears  to  awake.  Heavens,  how 
I  love  you !  you  are  my  life,  my  joy,  I  adore  you ! 

JULIETTE. 

2.15  p.  m.,  Friday,  September  2d,  1836. 

JVlY  poor  beloved  angel.  The  nearer  the  mo- 
ment approaches,  the  more  I  dread  the  inevitable 
parting  which  must  follow  the  few  days  of  happi- 
ness you  have  just  given  me.  I  long  for  delay, 
but  I  know  very  well  that  however  Providence 
may  interpose  in  my  favor,  the  day  must  come 
when  you  will  have  to  go  to  St.  Prix.  Lucky  for 
me  if  it  is  not  to-day.  But,  putting  aside  all  con- 
siderations of  love  and  Juju,  it  would  really  not 
be  prudent  for  you  to  go  to  the  country  in  this 
cold,  foggy  weather;  even  this  morning,  in  the 
warmth  and  repose  of  home,  you  felt  a  warning 
twinge  of  rheumatism  which  prescribes  prudence 
on  your  part.  I  fear  your  natural  desire  to  kiss 

231 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Toto  on  his  donkey  and  watch  the  other  little 
scamps*  at  their  holiday  occupations  may  draw 
you,  in  spite  of  rain,  wind  and  the  good  counsel  of 
your  old  Juju,  to  St.  Prix.  At  any  rate,  if  you 
do  this  foolish  thing,  try  to  avoid  chills,  to  think  of 
me  and  to  come  back  to  my  care  and  caresses  as 
quickly  as  possible.  JULIETTE. 

6  p.  m.,  Saturday,  2$th,  1836. 
Y  OU  torment  me  unjustly  as  usual,  my  darling 
beloved.  Yet  you  ought  to  begin  to  know  me  and 
not  suspect  my  every  action,  even  the  drinking 
of  a  cup  of  coffee.  The  awkwardness  of  my 
position,  the  absolute  solitude  in  which  I  am  com- 
pelled to  live,  and  the  many  insults  I  have  to 
tolerate  daily  from  you,  exasperate  me  so  that  I 
feel  I  would  rather  go  out  of  your  life  than  con- 
tinue to  exist  like  a  woman  condemned  and  ac- 
cursed. 

It  is  your  fault  that  I  am  so  unhappy.  No- 
body else  will  ever  love  you  so  well  or  be  so  en- 
tirely devoted  to  you.  But  one  is  not  bound  to 
put  up  with  impossibilities,  and  I  cannot  live 
longer  under  a  yoke  which  you  make  more  crush- 
ing every  day.  What  am  I  to  do,  beloved  ?  Run 
away  from  you?  I  have  scarcely  enough  money 
for  my  quiet  Paris  routine.  Remain  here?  If 

232 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  have  not  the  courage  to  abstain  from  visiting 
me,  I  certainly  shall  never  have  enough  to  pre- 
vent you  from  coming. 

The  wound  in  my  heart  is  raw  and  bleeding, 
thanks  to  the  care  you  take  to  keep  it  in  that  con- 
dition. The  slightest  additional  twinge  becomes 
unbearable  torture.  I  do  not  know  what  moral 
operation  I  would  not  consent  to,  to  be  cured  of 
it. 

For  the  last  three  years  you  have  really  given 
me  too  much  pain.  I  implore  you  from  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart  to  be  less  offensive  with  me,  or 
else  to  leave  me  for  good  and  all.  You  may  guess 
from  this  what  I  am  enduring. 

JULIETTE. 

2  p.  m.,  Sunday,  ist  January,  1837. 
YOUR  darling  adorable  letter  has  reached  me. 
I  have  devoured  it  with  caresses.  Oh,  how  I 
love  you!  I  have  just  sent  my  child  out  of  the 
room  so  that  I  might  read  it  on  my  knees  in  front 
of  your  picture.  These  little  pranks  may  seem 
foolish,  but  they  contain  a  deeper,  more  sacred 
significance  like  the  devotion  that  inspires  them. 
When  you  come  you  will  find  me  joyous  and 
radiant  as  I  was  on  that  glorious  day  when  you 
first  revealed  your  love.  My  beloved,  my  heart, 

233 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  am  very  happy.  I  am  in  Heaven,  for  you  love 
me,  my  Toto  .  .  .  your  dear  letter  has  said  it. 
Your  eyes,  your  mouth,  your  soul  will  tell  me  so 
still  better  presently.  Yes,  indeed  I  am  happy,  I 
am  surfeited.  There  is  nothing  left  for  me  to 
desire  or  require — I  have  your  love,  a  love  which 
God  Himself  might  envy  were  He  a  woman. 

Thank  you,  adored  one,  thank  you  from  my 
heart  and  soul.    I  am  as  good  as  gold,  believe  me. 

Juju. 

7.30  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  February  2ist,  1837. 
L)O  not  grieve,  my  precious,  do  not  lament.  I 
will  .not  attempt  consolation,  for  you  have  better 
and  more  efficacious  resources  within  your  own 
self,  but  I  share  your  affliction.  Whatever  sad- 
dens you  saddens  me ;  where  you  love  I  love,  when 
you  mourn,  I  mourn.  If  I  conjure  you  not  to  give 
way  to  your  grief  it  is  not  because  I  hesitate  to 
bear  my  portion  of  it  but  because  I  believe  that 
your  poor  brother  himself  would  not  now  desire  a 
return  to  this  life.1  I  look  upon  his  death  more 
as  a  blessing  than  a  misfortune.  Poor  brother ! 

I  love  you,  my  adored  Victor.     In  moments 
such  as  these  when  sorrow  brings  you  nearer  to 

1  Eugene  Hugo,  brother  of  the  poet,   had  just  expired.     See 
Number  XXIX  of  Voix  Interieures  d,  Eugene,  Vicomte  Hugo. 

234 


To  Victor  Hugo 

my  level,  I  feel  that  my  affection  for  you  is  ab- 
solutely true  and  purified  from  all  dross.  Try  to 
come  early  this  evening.  I  will  lavish  caresses 
upon  you  silently,  with  my  eyes  and  my  inner- 
most self,  without  worrying  you.  You  shall  rest 
by  my  fireside,  and  lean  your  dear  head  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  read,  and  I  shall  be  glad. 

I  am  jealous  of  that  woman  who  has  dared  to 
steal  your  verses;  such  things  are  not  lost.  It 
was  a  two  fold  wickedness  on  her  part,  for 
she  caused  you  the  trouble  of  re-writing  them  and 
me  the  torment  of  jealousy.  I  will  not  have  you 
see  her  again,  ever  !  Do  you  hear  ? 

Oh,  I  love  you,  I  love  you  far  too  much. 

JULIETTE. 


'7.15  p.  m.,  Monday,  r  April  2d, 
I  HAVE  decided  to  get  up,  after  all,  thanks  to 
the  laundry  man  ;  but  for  him,  I  should  have  re- 
mained in  bed  nursing  my  depression.  I  am  sad 
beyond  everything,  yet  I  cannot  tell  why  —  you  are 
kind  and  affectionate,  and  I  love  you  with  my 
whole  soul  ;  but  that  does  not  seem  enough.  Es- 
teem, the  keystone  of  happiness,  is  lacking.  I 
have  worn  myself  out  in  the  endeavor  to  gain 
it  during  the  last  four  years,  yet  it  cometh  not, 
nor  ever  will  come,  now.  I  must  turn  my  efforts 

235 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

in  another  direction.  I  must  try  to  break  with 
you,  tactfully,  as  you  say,  by  quitting  Paris  and 
perhaps  France.  Will  that  be  sufficient  to  stop 
the  tongue  of  scandal?  I  wish  to  leave  you  be- 
fore you  abandon  me  because  I  do  not  admit  your 
right  to  inflict  such  a  fearful  blow  upon  me. 
There  are  people  capable  of  committing  suicide 
who  yet  recoil  at  the  thought  of  being  murdered 
— I  am  one.  I  can  and  will  kill  myself,  but  I 
shrink  from  the  injury  you  might  possibly  inflict 
upon  me  before  long.  My  courage  does  not  out- 
strip your  cruelty.  I  love  you  too  much  for 
happiness.  JULIETTE. 

10.15  a-  m->  Tuesday,  May  2nd,  1837. 
CjOOD  morning,  my  well-beloved.  Did  you 
have  a  good  night  ?  You  looked  overstrained  and 
tired  yesterday  and  indeed  there  was  enough  to 
make  you  so,  you  poor  dear.  I  do  not  know  how 
you  can  put  up  with  it  all.  Forgive  me  for  adding 
to  your  burden  the  exactions  of  a  woman  who 
loves  and  fears  to  recognize  in  lassitude  an  evi- 
dence of  coldness.  Forgive  me;  if  I  did  not  oc- 
casionally doubt  your  love  I  should  torment  you 
less  and  would  show  more  consideration  for  your 
occupations  and  repose. 

You  hurt  me  very  much  last  night  by  speaking 
236 


To  Victor  Hugo 

as  you  did,  yet  I  wanted  to  know  your  true  opinion 
of  me.  I  have  long  been  tormented  by  a  mourn- 
ful curiosity  on  that  point.  Last  night  you  satis- 
fied it  in  full.  I  know  now  that  you  pity  with- 
out despising  me.  I  accept  your  compassion,  for 
I  need  it  and  ought  to  have  it;  but  I  should  in- 
dignantly repudiate  a  contempt  I  do  not  deserve. 
My  past  history  is  sad  but  not  disgraceful.  My 
life  until  I  met  you  was  the  melancholy  outcome  of 
a  poor  girl's  first  fault,  but  at  least  it  was  never 
soiled  by  those  hideous  vices  that  deface  the  soul 
still  more  than  the  body.  Even  at  the  worst  mo- 
ments of  my  trouble,  I  cherished  within  me  an 
inner  sanctuary  whither  I  could  betake  myself  as 
to  some  hallowed  spot.  Since  then,  that  sanctu- 
ary has  been  open  to  you  only  and  you  can  testify 
whether  you  have  found  it  worthy  of  you;  you 
know  whether,  since  you  have  occupied  its  throne 
and  altar,  I  have  ever  failed  one  single  day  or 
minute  to  prostrate  myself  on  my  knees  before 
you  in  adoration,  or  have  ever  turned  my  gaze  or 
my  soul  away  from  you.  This  proves,  my  be- 
loved, that  my  former  backsliding  was  only  super- 
ficial, not  inherently  vicious ;  that  my  wound  was 
accidental,  not  a  hideous  devouring  canker ;  that  I 
love  you  now  and  am  thereby  made  whole. 

JULIETTE. 

237 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

10.45  °»  m->  Tuesday,  May  2d,  1837. 
I  AM  following  up  my  letter  immediately  with 
another  because  I  am  alone  and  the  moment  is 
propitious  for  me  to  open  my  heart  to  you  from 
the  very  bottom.  Racket  and  pleasure  are  a 
hindrance  to  meditation,  and  at  this  moment  I 
am  rapt  in  contemplation  of  you  and  your  be- 
loved image.  I  see  you  as  you  are,  that  is  to  say, 
a  god  made  man  to  redeem  and  rescue  me  from 
the  infamous  life  to  which  I  had  so  long  been  en- 
slaved. What  Christ  did  for  the  world  you  have 
done  for  me;  like  Him  you  saved  my  soul  at  the 
expense  of  your  repose  and  life.  May  you  be  as 
blessed  for  this  generous  action  as  you  are  adored 
by  me  for  it.  I  should  have  loved  you,  devil  or 
angel,  bad  or  good,  selfish  or  devoted,  cruel  or 
generous — I  must  have  loved  you,  for  at  the  mere 
sight  of  you  my  whole  being  cries  out:  /  love 
you!  Would  that  I  might  proclaim  it  on  my 
knees,  with  hands  clasped  and  heart  on  lips:  / 
love  you.  I  love  you!  The  talk  we  had  last 
night  kept  me  from  sleeping,  but  I  do  not  com- 
plain; there  are  moments  when  sleep  is  a  mis- 
fortune. I  needed  to  rehearse  one  by  one  all 
your  words,  to  collect  carefully  those  which  must 
remain  forever  enshrined  in  my  bosom  as  treas- 
ures of  consolation  and  love.  The  less  generous 

238 


To  Victor  Hugo 

ones  you  uttered  I  have  consumed  in  the  flame  of 
my  soul ;  nothing  remains  of  them  but  ashes  dead 
as  the  ashes  of  my  past. 

Do  not  turn  away  in  disgust  from  the  scratches 
I  have  sustained  in  falling  from  my  pedestal,  as 
you  might  from  hideous  and  incurable  wounds. 
I  repeat  again,  my  beloved,  because  it  is  the  truth : 
misfortune  there  has  been  in  my  life,  but  neither 
debauch  nor  moral  turpitude.  Henceforth  there 
can  be  nothing  but  a  sacred,  pure  love  for  you.  I 
am  worthy  of  pardon  and  affection.  Love  me,  I 
crave  it  of  you.  JULIETTE. 

11.15  a-  m->  Thursday,  May  nth,  1837. 
CrOOD  morning,  my  dear  little  man,  I  have  bad 
weather  to  announce :  rain,  snow,  hail,  wind,  and 
in  addition,  an  abominable  cold  in  my  head  which 
does  not  help  to  resign  me  to  a  day  already  filled 
with  clouds.  I  love  you,  do  you  know  that?  and 
I  admire  you  for  your  beautiful  soul.  It  is  splen- 
did of  you,  my  great  Toto,  to  have  raised 
your  voice  so  powerfully  in  defense  of  the  poor, 
dead  King.2  You  alone  had  the  right  for  you 
only  are  above  suspicion ;  you  only  are  influential 
enough  to  compel  the  impious,  pitiless  world  to 

2  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  second  poem  in  the  Voix  Interi- 
fures:     "Sunt  lacrimae.  .  .  ." 

239 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

listen  to  your  indulgent  and  religious  voice.  If 
it  were  possible  for  me  to  love  you  more,  I  should 
do  so  for  this,  but  from  the  first  day  I  saw  you  I 
have  given  my  whole  heart  and  thoughts  and  soul 
unreservedly  into  your  keeping. 

How  I  love  you,  my  adored  Victor,  how  I  love 
you!  In  that  short  and  much  misused  word  is 
contained  all  my  soul,  all  the  bloom  of  a  devotion 
that  has  opened  out  under  the  sun  of  your  gaze. 
Good-by,  my  own.  JULIETTE. 

8. jo  p.  m.}  Friday,  June  2d,  1837. 
DEAR  LITTLE  MAN: 

You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  take  my  love 
or  leave  it.  Compare  my  life  with  yours  and  see 
whether  I  do  not  deserve  that  you  should  pity  and 
love  me  with  all  your  might.  I  am  all  alone;  I 
have  neither  family  nor  glory  nor  the  thousand 
and  one  distractions  that  surround  you.  As  I 
say,  I  am  alone,  always  alone ;  it  even  seems  prob- 
able that  I  shall  not  see  you  to-night,  while  you 
will  be  spending  your  evening  in  feasting,  talking 
and  visiting  your  uncle,  whom  may  the  devil  fly 
away  with.  Everybody  can  get  you  except  me; 
the  exception  is  flattering  and  well  chosen.  I  am 
so  unhappy  that  I  am  going  to  bed  and  shall  prob- 
ably cry  my  eyes  out — I  am  more  inclined  for  that 

240 


To  Victor  Hugo 

than  for  laughing.  If  you  succeed  in  cheering 
me  up  to-night  I  shall  know  you  for  a  great  man, 
and  a  still  greater  sorcerer,  but  you  will  not  at- 
tempt it.  I  may  be  as  sad  and  miserable  as  I  like, 
and  I  am  certain  you  will  never  interfere. 

Good-night,  Toto,  I  am  going  to  bed.  Good- 
night, be  happy  and  gay  and  content;  your  poor 
Juju  will  be  unhappy  enough  for  both.  I  love 
you,  Toto.  JULIETTE. 

/.jo  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  June  loth.  • 
1  LOVE  you  before  all  things  and  after  all  things. 
I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you!  I  have  just 
written  to  Mother  Pierceau  that  I  shall  send  Su- 
zanne to  her  to-morrow.  I  forgot  to  ask  you 
exactly  how  much  money  you  brought  me  yester- 
day and  also  for  cash  for  yesterday's  expenses.  I 
will  do  so  to-night.  I  try  hard  to  keep  my  ac- 
counts accurately,  yet  I  am  always  in  a  muddle  at 
the  end  of  the  month,  and  always  either  above  or 
below  what  I  ought  to  have.  I  do  my  best,  but 
nothing  seems  to  bring  my  sums  out  right. 

I  think  there  is  going  to  be  a  big  storm;  the 
sky  is  lowering  like  yesterday  and  the  weather 
still  more  oppressive.  Try  not  to  get  wet,  and 
come  and  fetch  your  umbrella  before  it  begins  to 
pour. 

241 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

What  a  delightful  afternoon  we  spent  yester- 
day. I  wish  we  could  have  it  over  again,  even  if 
we  had  to  be  soaked  to  the  skin.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  Bassin  du  Titan.3  The  pretty  turtle- 
dove that  came  to  slake  its  thirst  in  it  seemed  to 
recognize  us  and  wait  for  its  drink  until  you  scat- 
tered drops  of  poetry  into  the  mossy  flowery 
grooves  surrounding  its  edges. 

Heavens,  what  precious  pearls  you  squandered 
yesterday  in  that  magnificent  garden,  at  the  feet 
of  those  peerless  goddesses  which  seem  to  come  to 
life  when  your  glance  rests  upon  them.  What 
flowers  there  are  round  those  lawns  peopled  with 
joyous  children!  How  all  those  gods  and  god- 
desses, heroes,  kings,  queens,  women,  nymphs, 
and  children  must  have  quarreled  over  the  treas- 
ure you  lavished  upon  them.  I  was  sorry  to  go 
away.  I  should  have  liked  to  go  back  in  the 
moonlight  and  gather  up  all  those  jewels  upon 
which  you  set  so  little  store.  Oh,  I  must  return 
there  very  soon,  and  we  will  at  the  same  time  re- 
visit our  Metz  where  we  have  enjoyed  so  much 
bliss.  That  journey  will  bring  us  happiness  and 
I  long  to  make  it.  I  love  you,  my  great  Toto. 
Forgive  this  scribble;  it  looks  absurd  now,  and 
indeed  it  must  needs  be  so,  for  I  was  inebriated 

8  One  of  the  basins  in  the  park  of  Versailles. 

242 


To  Victor  Hugo 

with  love  when  I  wrote  it.  My  thoughts  stagger 
and  fall  upon  the  paper  because  they  have  drunk 
too  deeply  of  my  soul  and  know  not  where  they 
are.  JULIETTE. 

3.45  p.  m.,  Thursday,  July  27,  1837. 
I  MUST  contribute  my  scribble  in  acknowledg- 
ment for  the  delightful  lines  you  have  just 
written  in  my  little  book.4  My  voice  will  sound 
like  the  cackle  of  a  hen  after  the  song  of  a  night- 
ingale, but  that  is  the  law  of  nature.  So  I  do  not 
see  why  I  should  be  silent  because  I  have  heard 
you.  It  was  rash  of  you,  my  dear  little  man,  to 
put  down  the  date  you  suppose  was  that  of  my 
birth,  but  as  I  am  too  honest  to  contradict  you  I 
accept  it  and  affirm  that  since  those  days  when 
you  were  a  little  boy  studying  Quintus  Curtius 
you  have  developed  and  far  outstripped  all  those 
you  revered  and  admired  when  you  were  an  ur- 
chin of  seven — while  I  have  remained  the  poor, 
uncultured  girl  you  know ;  it  is  pretty  certain  that 
education  could  have  added  but  little  to  my  barren 
nature;  the  weeds  of  the  sea-shore  do  not  gain 
much  from  cultivation.  On  that  point,  thank 
Heaven,  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  No  one 

4  Victor  Hugo  had  just  given  Juliette  a  Quintus  Curtius  in 
which  he  had  formerly  studied  Latin.  On  the  fly-leaf  he  had 
written  a  few  words  of  dedication. 

243 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

worried  much  about  me  until  you  appeared  upon 
the  scene,  but  you  came,  my  great  and  sublime 
poet,  and  you  did  not  disdain  to  cull  the  little 
scentless  flower  prinking  herself  at  your  feet  to 
attract  the  sunshine  of  your  glance.  I  bless  you 
for  your  goodness.  I  know  that  a  father  and 
mother  look  down  upon  you  from  the  realms 
above  and  love  you  for  the  happiness  you  have 
given  to  the  poor  little  daughter  they  left  solitary 
on  earth.  I  weep  as  I  write,  for  it  is  the  first  time 
I  have  really  looked  into  my  innocent  past  and 
my  loving  heart.  I  bless  you,  my  generous  man, 
on  earth,  as  you  will  be  blest  in  heaven ;  may  all 
those  dear  to  you  participate  in  this  benediction 
and  in  the  joys  and  riches  of  this  world  and  the 
next.  JULIETTE. 

p  a.  m.,  Thursday,  September  2ist,  1837. 
CjrOOD  morning,  my  beloved. 

The  anniversary  of  our  return  to  Paris  has 
been  sadder  still  than  the  day  itself,  since  you 
have  not  been  with  me  at  all,  either  last  night  or 
this  morning.  I  am  upset  in  consequence.  I 
have  not  yet  taken  off  my  nightcap ;  I  am  cross. 
Shall  you  be  at  Auteuil  all  day?  What  a  disap- 
pointment for  poor  Juju,  not  to  speak  of  Claire, 
who  has  to  take  her  chance  of  my  temper  when  I 

244 


To  Victor  Hugo 

am  cross,  and  that  idiot  Madame  Guerard  who 
has  put  me  to  the  expense  of  a  stamp  merely  to 
say  that  she  thinks  she  is  getting  fat  and  that  she 
wishes  you  good-morning.  How  thrilling! 

I  love  you,  dearest  Toto,  I  love  you  too  much, 
for  I  am  miserable  when  you  are  away.  I  wish 
I  could  care  comfortably,  like  you,  for  instance, 
who  feel  neither  better  nor  worse  whether  I  am 
near  or  far.  You  are  always  the  same;  love 
never  makes  you  miss  the  point  of  a  joke,  or  a 
hearty  laugh,  nor  fail  to  notice  a  gray  cloud,  the 
Great  Bear,  a  frog,  a  sunset,  the  earth,  water, 
gale,  or  zephyr.  You  see  everything,  enjoy 
everything  without  a  thought  for  poor  old  Juju 
who  is  being  bored  to  desperation  in  her  solitary 
corner.  Which  of  us  two  is  the  best  lover,  eh? 
Answer  that  it  is  I,  Juju,  and  you  will  be  speak- 
ing the  truth.  Yes,  I  love  you.  Try  not  to  stay 
away  from  me  all  day.  Love  me  for  being  sad 
in  your  absence.  JULIETTE. 


p.  m.,  Saturday,  September  2^d,  1837. 
YOU  are  making  yourself  more  and  more  of  a 
rarity,  my  beautiful  star,  so  that  I  become  chilled 
and  gloomy  as  an  antique,  moss-grown  statue, 
abandoned  in  the  wilds  of  some  deserted  garden. 
I  am  not  angry  with  you,  but  I  do  wish  you  were 

245 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

less  busy  and  more  lover-like.  You  have  quickly 
resumed  your  fine  Paris  appearance,  my  beloved 
little  man,  whilst  I  still  cling  to  my  traveling  dis- 
guise. You  ought  surely  to  have  waited  for  me 
to  take  the  initiative,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  man- 
ners. Whom  are  you  so  anxious  to  please,  my 
bright  boy?  Who  is  the  favored  one  you  aspire 
to  put  in  my  place  ?  In  any  case,  I  warn  you  that 
I  shall  not  be  sly  like  Granier,5  but  that  I  shall  fall 
upon  your  respective  carcasses  with  frank  blows 
of  a  cudgel,  mind  that!  Now  you  may  go  in 
search  of  your  charmer  if  you  are  prepared  to  see 
your  bones  ground  to  powder  for  my  use. 

If  you  come  early  this  evening  I  shall  be  so 
happy,  so  cheery,  so  content  and  good  that  you 
will  never  wish  to  leave  me  again ;  but  if  you  de- 
lay, I  shall  be  exactly  the  reverse,  and  you  will 
have  to  coax  and  love  me  with  all  your  might  to 
comfort  me. 

You  are  letting  your  letterbox  get  over  full 
again.  Toto,  Toto,  I  shall  make  a  bonfire  of  its 
contents  if  you  do  not  come  quick  and  secure 
them.  Mind  what  you  are  about ! 

JULIETTE. 

6  A  critic. 


246 


To  Victor  Hugo 

12.45  P-  m->  Wednesday,  November  22d,  1837. 
I  REALLY  believe  you  do  it  on  purpose ;  but  you 
may  be  certain  that  I  shall  pay  you  back  in  the 
same  kind:  indifference  for  indifference;  dormant 
dormant  is  my  motto. 

Now  let  us  talk  of  other  things.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  taking  of  Constantine?  I  cannot 
believe  the  present  ministry  will  survive  long  as 
at  present  constituted ;  Thiers  and  Varot  may  be 
called  upon  at  any  moment  to  form  a  new  cabinet. 
What  is  your  opinion  ?  The  commercial  crisis  is 
still  making  itself  felt  in  the  markets;  oils  of 
every  description  have  gone  down;  for  instance, 
rape  oil  which  was  at  47  is  now  only  at  45.  A 
recovery  is  looked  for  next  year,  but  I  have  my 
doubts  about  it,  haven't  you  ?  6 

Do  you  not  agree  with  me  that  all  this  points  to 
a  revolution  in  the  near  future,  which  will  entail 
sinister  results  for  Wailly's  government?  For 
my  part,  I  view  with  consternation  the  removal  of 
the  Carlists  from  St.  Jean  Pied  de  Port  to  Pain- 
bceuf,  after  a  sojourn  at  St.  Menehould.  I  am 
already  sick  of  the  recital  of  the  horrors  which 

6  Juliette  Drouet  here  enumerates  the  depreciation  of  various 
stocks.  The  letter  is  evidently  written  in  a  sarcastic  vein  induced 
by  pique. — Translator's  note. 

247 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

disturb  the  digestion  and  the  tranquillity  of  the 
citizens  of  whom  you  are  the  chief  ornament. 
Pray  accept  the  expression  of  my  distinguished 
consideration.  JULIETTE. 

5  p.  m.,  December  $th,  1837. 

rd  OW  kind  you  are,  my  Toto,  to  have  come  and 
relieved  the  suspense  I  was  in  as  to  what  had 
happened  in  Court.7  Heavens,  how  well  you 
spoke!  I  was  so  moved  and  so  convinced  while 
I  listened,  that  I  forgot  even  to  admire  you,  yet 
I  have  never  known  you  finer  or  more  eloquent. 
Why  must  the  case  be  adjourned  for  a  week?  Is 
it  to  allow  time  for  intrigues  against  the  incor- 
ruptible consciences  of  my  lords  the  judges?  I 
should  have  given  worlds  for  the  verdict  to  have 
been  delivered  to-day;  first  because  it  would  re- 
lieve you  of  an  anxiety  as  annoying  as  it  is 
fatiguing,  secondly  because  I  myself  crave  repose, 
and  since  this  devil  of  a  lawsuit  has  come  on  the 
scene  I  cannot  sleep  at  night,  and  lastly  because  I 
shall  then  see  you  oftener,  or  at  least  so  I  hope. 

While  I  was  waiting  for  you  just  now  I  copied  a 
few  passages  from  the  letters  of  Mile,  de 
Lespinasse  about  the  CD.8  and  the  S.9  of  her 

7  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  lawsuit  of  Victor  Hugo  against 
the  Comedie  Franchise. 

8  Casimir  Delavigne.  9  Scribe. 

248 


To  Victor  Hugo 

period.  Her  opinions  then,  fit  our  own  times  ab- 
solutely: the  same  absurdities,  the  same  plati- 
tudes, and  the  same  petty  triumphs !  It  would  be 
pitiable  were  it  not  so  grotesque.  Nothing  seems 
to  have  altered  in  the  last  sixty  years;  there  are 
the  identical  bourgeois  in  the  identical  Rue  Saint 
Denis,  the  same  men  and  the  women  of  the  world 
— nothing  is  missing.  They  have  not  grown  old, 
they  are  still  in  good  health.  Stupidity  and  bad 
taste  are  the  best  agents  for  the  maintenance  of 
society  in  all  its  pristine  foolishness.  Here  am  I 
driveling  on  just  as  if  I  knew  what  I  was  talking 
about.  It  would  be  a  nice  setout  if  I  attempted 
to  write!  I  might  just  as  well  present  myself 
as  a  candidate  for  the  Senate.  Please  forgive 
me.  Your  lawsuit  is  the  cause  of  my  chatter,  but 
I  will  not  transgress  again.  I  love  you  far  too 
much  to  go  out  of  my  way  to  make  a  fool  of  my- 
self. JULIETTE. 

RECEIPTS  FOR  THE  MONTH  OF  DECEMBER,   1837 


Dec.  Frs.  Sous.  Lds. 

Cash  in  hand 4  3 

i.  Money  earned  by  my  Toto. ...  51       4 

4.  Cash  from  my  darling 5     10 

6.  Money  earned  by  my  dear  one .  44 

249 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

9.  Cash  from  my  Toto's  purse. . .     10 
TO       »        »       »       »         »  _, 

**•  •  •  •       5 

T^       »       ))       »       ))         })  ^ 

O"  / 

14.  Money  earned  by  my  darling. .  45 

17.  Cash  from  my  adored  one 10       2 

1 8.  Cash  from  my  adored  one 4       2 

19.  Money  earned  by  my  beloved.  .  60 

22.  Cash  from  my  Toto 2 

24.      "       "       "      "  10 

26.     "       "       "      "  3 

28.  Money  earned  by  my  Toto. ...  102     12 

30.  Money  earned  by  my  darling. .  100      9 
plus  the  money  for  the  earring 

and  ring 2 


Total  466     19     3 

EXPENDITURE    FOR    THE    MONTH    OF    DECEMBER, 

1837 


Frs.  Sous.    Lds. 

Food  and  wine 99  2       3 

Coal I  i 

Lighting 21  6 

Household  expenses  and  post- 
age    16 

Baths,  illness 8  I     ^2 

General  expenditure 29  8 

250 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Incidental       expenses       and 

pocket-money 5  8 

Dress    41  5 

Washing 16  5 

Debts  and  pawnbroker 151  6 

Wages 20  13 

To  the  Lanvins 4  2 


Total  413     19 
Cash  in  hand     53 


466     19       5 
To  Toto :  9  luncheons 
Dinners  to  10  persons. 
In  all,  about  19. 

1.45  p.  m.,  Sunday,  2ist  January,  1838. 
CjOOD  morning,  my  dear  one,  good  morning, 
my  big  Toto.  How  did  you  manage  to  fit  into 
your  bed?  You  must  have  curled  yourself  up 
into  five  or  six  hundred  curves.  One  grows  at 
such  a  pace  in  the  space  of  an  evening  like  last 
night *  that  you  must  have  become  gigantic  by 
this  morning,  though  you  were  already  greater 
than  anyone  else  in  the  world.  I  have  grown 
too,  for  my  love  equals  your  beauty,  equals  the 

1  Alluding  to  the  revival  of  Hernani  at  the  Comedie  Frangaise, 
January  2Oth.  1838. 

251 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

praises  and  admiration  lavished  upon  you ;  so,  un- 
less one  is  prepared  to  state,  against  all  logic,  that 
the  container  is  smaller  than  the  contents,  I  must 
have  grown  and  even  surpassed  you — without 
vanity.  Love  exalts  as  much  as  glory  does,  and 
I  love  you  more  than  you  are  great.  Yes,  my 
Toto,  yes,  my  dear  Victor,  I  dare  affirm  it  because 
it  is  true.  I  love  you  more  than  you  are  great. 

How  did  you  spend  the  night,  adored  one?  I 
hope  you  did  not  work,  tired  out  as  you  were  and 
in  that  horrible  little  icehouse.  I  cannot  think 
of  that  room  without  shivering  from  head  to  foot. 
I  shall  be  very  glad  when  I  hear  that  it  is  closed 
and  warmed.  Unfortunately  that  does  not 
promise  to  be  soon,  and  meanwhile  you  suffer  and 
freeze,  and  I  torment  myself  about  you. 

I  adore  you,  my  beloved  Toto.  I  would  die  for 
you  if  you  would  promise  always  to  think  lov- 
ingly of  me;  even  without  that  condition  I  adore 
you,  my  Victor.  JULIETTE. 

5.45  p.  m.}  Sunday,  2ist  January,  1838. 
M.UST  it  always  be  my  lot  to  wait,  dearly  be- 
loved ?  I  thought  I  had  given  proofs  sufficient  of 
courage  and  resignation  all  this  time,  to  have 
earned  my  reward  now.  Of  course  I  know  you 
must  have  had  the  whole  of  Paris  in  your  house 

252 


To  Victor  Hugo 

to-day,  but  if  you  cared  for  me  as  I  do  for  you, 
you  would  leave  all  Paris,  and  the  world  itself, 
for  me.  What  good  is  the  back  door,  if  not  to 
enable  you  to  evade  importunate  people,  and  fly  to 
the  poor  love  who  awaits  you  with  so  much  long- 
ing and  affection  ?  Why  carry  four  keys  in  your 
pocket  like  the  jailer  in  a  comic  opera,  if  you  do 
not  make  use  of  them  on  the  proper  occasion  ?  I 
am  very  sad,  my  Toto;  I  do  not  think  you  care 
for  me  any  more.  You  are  as  splendidly  kind 
and  generous  as  ever,  but  you  are  no  longer  the 
ardent  lover  of  old  days.  It  is  quite  true,  al- 
though you  will  not  admit  it  out  of  compassion 
for  me.  I  am  very  unhappy.  Some  day  I  shall 
do  something  desperate  to  rid  you  of  me,  for  I 
cannot  bear  to  realize  the  coldness  of  your  heart 
and  at  the  same  time  to  accept  your  generous 
self-sacrifice. 

You  know  I  have  always  told  you  that  I  will 
accept  nothing  from  you  if  you  do  not  love  me! 
I  love  you  so  much  that  if  I  could  inspire  you 
with  my  feelings  there  would  be  nothing  left  for 
me  to  desire  in  this  world.  JULIETTE. 

Noon.     Monday,  February  I2th,  1838. 
G  OOD  morning,  my  dear  little  man.     How  are 
you  this  morning?     I  am  very  well,  but  I  should 

253 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

be  still  better  if  I  had  seen  you  and  breakfasted 
with  you.  ...  I  am  arranging  to  go  to  Hernani 
to-night.  I  hope  there  will  be  no  hitch,  and  that 
the  promise  of  the  bills  will  at  last  be  fulfilled.  I 
am  longing  for  the  moment.  It  is  such  ages 
since  I  have  seen  my  Hernani,  and  it  is  such  a 
beautiful  creation !  I  wish  it  were  already  night 
and  I  were  in  my  little  box  with  dear  little  Toto 
sitting  at  the  back  where  I  might  reward  him 
with  eyes  and  lips  for  every  beautiful  line.  You 
are  not  jealous?  Yes,  I  want  you  to  be  jealous! 
I  want  you  to  be  jealous,  even  of  yourself,  or  else 
I  shall  not  believe  that  you  love  me. 

Good-morning,  Toto.  All  this  nonsense  simply 
means  that  I  dote  on  you  and  think  you  beautiful 
and  great  and  adorable.  You  did  not  come  last 
night — probably  because  there  was  to  be  a  re- 
hearsal this  morning.  Try  and  behave  properly 
at  it,  for  I  have  Argus  eyes  and  shall  come  down 
upon  you  myself,  like  a  thunderbolt,  in  the  midst 
of  your  antics.  Meanwhile,  take  care  of  your- 
self ;  do  not  get  cold  feet  or  a  headache  like  mine ; 
it  would  be  a  great  nuisance. 

Dear  soul,  if  you  had  the  least  regard  for  your 
health  you  would  have  your  flannel  underclothing 
made  at  once.  I  assure  you  you  would  find  it 
very  comfortable.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  let  you 

254 


To  Victor  Hugo 

take  the  stuff  away,  for  if  I  had  it  still,  I  should 
force  you  to  do  all  this.  It  is  not  that  I  want  to 
worry  you,  my  adored  one,  for  I  know  how  many 
other  important  things  you  have  to  think  of,  but 
this  is  one  of  the  most  pressing;  that  is  why  I 
should  like  it  done.  I  love  you,  my  Toto,  with 
all  my  strength,  and  more  yet.  I  press  my  lips  in 
spirit  upon  your  eyes  and  hair. 

JULIETTE. 

12. 75  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  ?th  March,  1838. 
CrOOD  morning,  my  dear  little  beloved..  How 
are  your  eyes,  my  Toto  ?  It  torments  me  to  know 
that  you  are  suffering  so  much,  for  however  brave 
and  uncomplaining  you  may  be,  I  can  see  quite 
well  that  you  are  in  pain. 

If  you  knew  how  I  love  you,  my  dear  one,  you 
would  understand  my  trouble  and  grief  when  you 
suffer.  I  suppose  you  are  going  to  the  rehearsal 
this  morning.  I  wish  the  first  performance  2  was 
to  be  this  evening,  for  I  am  trembling  already. 
Generally,  I  only  begin  to  shiver  on  the  day  itself, 
but  this  time  my  terrors  have  set  in  twenty-four 
hours  in  advance.  I  hope  my  fears  will  have 
been  in  vain  as,  so  often  before,  and  that  your 

2  The  revival  of  Marion  de  Lorme  at  the  Comedie  Franchise 
was  to  take  place  the  next  evening,  March  8th. 

255 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

beautiful  poetry  will  prove  all-conquering  as  ever. 
To-morrow  my  soul  will  animate  the  spectators. 
I  shall  inspire  enthusiasm  in  the  discriminating, 
and  strangle,  by  sheer  force  of  love,  the  hatred 
and  envy  of  the  scum  who  would  dare  to  criticise 
your  magnificent  Marion,  for  whom  I  have  so 
special  a  partiality. 

I  express  myself  awkwardly,  but  I  feel  all  this 
acutely.  JULIETTE. 

7.30  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  March  fth,  1838. 
MY  DARLING: 

I  see  you  very  seldom,  but  it  is  not  your  fault, 
I  know.  I  look  constantly  into  my  heart,  whence 
you  are  never  absent,  and  there  I  see  you  growing 
daily  nobler,  greater,  and  dearer.  So  to-morrow 
is  the  great  day!  Ardently  as  I  have  desired  its 
advent,  I  now  dread  u  more  than  I  can  say.  How- 
ever, up  till  now  I  have  always  been  very  fright- 
ened and  nothing  has  happened,  so  I  hope  it  may 
be  the  same  this  time.  Besides,  how  could  the 
disapproval  of  a  few  miserable  wretches  and 
idiots  affect  the  magnificent  verses  of  Marion? 
It  will  only  prompt  the  sincere  and  intelligent 
portion  of  the  audience  to  do  you  instant  and 
brilliant  justice.  I  am  no  longer  afraid.  I  am 
as  brave  and  strong  as  love  itself.  Put  me  where 

256 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  like — I  do  not  care — all  places  are  equally 
good  to  applaud  from,  just  as  all  moments  are 
suitable  for  adoring  you.  Good-by,  my  love. 

JULIETTE. 

12.45  p.  m.,  Thursday,  March  8th,  1838. 
CjrOOD  morning,  blessed  one.  I  am  quite  up- 
set. If  your  success  to-night  is  in  proportion  to 
my  fright,  you  will  have  the  most  magnificent 
triumph  of  your  life.  I  hardly  know  what  I  am 
doing;  I  am  shaking  like  a  leaf,  I  cannot  grasp 
my  pen.  I  must  try  to  pull  myself  together  for 
this  evening.  It  is  absurd  of  me  to  be  such  a 
little  craven;  besides,  what  harm  can  a  cabal  do 
you?  None!  It  can  only  enhance  your  great- 
ness, if  such  a  thing  be  possible ;  so,  I  am  ashamed 
of  my  cowardice.  I  am  horribly  stupid  to  dread 
a  thing  which  certainly  will  not  happen,  and  if  it 
did,  would  not  injure  you.  Now  that  is  enough ! 
I  will  not  fear  again,  and  I  will  admire  and  ap- 
plaud my  Marion  in  the  very  face  of  the  cabal. 
I  will  give  them  a  hot  time  to-night!  Bravo! 
bravo!!  bravo!!!  I  feel  as  if  I  were  there  al- 
ready, and  the  happiest  of  women. 

My  little  darling  man,  are  you  not  soon  coming 
to  me?  I  do  so  long  for  you.  I  feel  as  if  you 
had  been  very  cold  to  me  lately.  Ir*  the  old  days, 

257 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

a  first  performance  did  not  prevent  your  coming 
to  make  love  to  me.  Heavens,  what  torture  it  is 
to  have  to  doubt  you  at  a  moment  when  I  am  so 
desperately  in  need  of  you !  I  love  you ! 

JULIETTE. 

1.45  p.  m.,  Friday,  March  yth,  1838. 

YOU  are  adorable,  my  great  Victor.  I  wish  I 
could  express  myself  as  earnestly  as  I  feel,  but 
that  is  impossible;  I  am  tongue-tied.  So  the 
great  performance  is  over!  What  a  fool  I  was 
to  be  frightened,  and  how  rightly  I  placed  my  con- 
fidence in  that  great  noodle,  the  public,  which  is 
so  slow  and  so-  hard  to  work  up,  but  when  once 
started,  boils  over  so  satisfactorily.  What  a 
magnificent  success,  and  how  thoroughly  justi- 
fied !  What  a  beautiful  place,  what  lovely  verses ! 
and  the  fascinating  poet!  Everything  was  un- 
derstood, applauded,  admired.  It  was  delightful. 
My  soul  was  raised  heavenward  with  the  Play. 
Dear  God,  how  magnificent  it  was!!!!!!!!!!!  I 
must  be  there  again  to-morrow,  and  every  night. 
Surely  I  have  the  right ! 

I  love  you,  my  Toto,  I  adore  you  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  soul.  I  wish  I  could  go  out — it  is 
such  a  fine  day.  I  kiss  your  beloved  hands. 

JULIETTE. 
258 


To  Victor  Hugo 

12.15  a.  m.,  Sunday,  March  nth,  1838. 
CjrOOD  morning,  my  beloved  one,  good  morn- 
ing, handsomest  and  greatest  of  men.  I  cannot 
speak  as  well  as  some  of  the  people  who  pay  you 
such  beautiful  and  sincere  homage,  but  I  feel  from 
the  bottom  of  my  soul  that  I  admire  and  love  you 
more  than  anyone  in  the  world.  All  the  same,  I 
am  sad  and  discouraged.  I  can  see  that  you  place 
no  reliance  on  my  intelligence,  that  my  last  years 
are  flying  by  without  earning  what  they  easily 
might :  a  position,  and  a  provision  for  the  future. 
I  am  not  angry  with  you.  It  is  not  your  fault  if 
you  are  prejudiced  against  me  to  the  point  of 
allowing  me,  without  regret,  to  waste  the  last 
few  years  of  my  youth.  Possibly  my  desire  to 
create  for  myself  an  independent  position  and  to 
remain  ever  at  your  side,  has  given  birth  to  the 
delusion  that  I  possess  a  great  talent  which  only 
requires  scope.  However  that  may  be,  I  am  in 
despair,  and  I  love  you  more  than  ever.  You  are 
good  to  look  at,  my  adored  one,  you  are  great  in 
intellect,  my  Victor,  and  yet  I  dare  proffer  my 
devotion,  for  it  is  as  genuine  as  your  beauty  and 
as  deep  as  your  genius.  I  adore  you. 

JULIETTE. 


259 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

11.30  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  loth  April,  1838. 
CjOOD  morning,  my  soul,  my  joy,  my  life. 
How  are  your  adored  eyes,  my  Toto?  I  cannot 
refrain  from  asking,  because  it  interests  me  to 
hear  more  than  anything  in  the  world.  I  am 
always  thinking  about  them.  I  long  for  the  1 5th 
of  this  month,  for  then  I  shall  have  the  right  to 
insist  upon  your  resting,  and  I  shall  certainly  ex- 
ercise it.  My  dear  love,  what  joy  it  will  be  for 
me  to  feel  your  dear  head  leaning  against  mine, 
to  kiss  your  beautiful  eyes,  and  to  make  certain 
that  you  do  not  work.  The  weather  is  lovely  this 
morning.  It  carries  my  thoughts  back  to  our 
dear  little  annual  trip,  when  we  were  so  happy 
and  so  cosy  together.  We  are  not  to  have  that 
felicity  this  year,  and  really  I  do  not  know  how  I 
shall  endure  it  when  the  time  comes  at  which  we 
used  to  start.  It  will  be  very  hard  and  difficult, 
and  I  doubt  whether  my  courage  and  reason  will 
suffice  to  enable  me  to  bear  the  greatest  sacrifice 
I  have  ever  made  in  my  life.  My  dear  one,  it  will 
be  sad  indeed ;  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  be  equal 
to  it. 

I  love  you,  adore  you,  admire  you,  and  again  I 
love  and  adore  you.  JULIETTE. 


260 


To  Victor  Hugo 

7.45  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  April  ioth,  1838. 
JM  Y  love,  I  am  writing  to  you  with  joy  and  wor- 
ship in  my  heart.  You  were  so  kind  and  tender 
and  fascinating  to  me  to-day  that  I  seemed  to  feel 
again  the  savor  and  rapture  of  the  days  of  old. 
My  Toto,  my  adored  one,  fancy  if  your  love  was 
about  to  flower  again  like  some  brilliant,  sweet- 
scented  spring  blossom !  With  what  ecstasy  and 
reverence  I  would  preserve  it  fresh  and  rosy  in 
my  heart.  Poor  beloved,  your  work  has  done  to 
our  idyll  what  the  winter  does  to  the  trees  and 
flowers — the  sap  has  retired  deep  into  the  bottom 
of  your  heart,  and  often  I  have  feared  it  was  quite 
dead ;  but  now  I  see  it  was  not :  it  was  only  lulled 
to  sleep  and  I  shall  possess  my  Toto  once  more, 
beautiful,  blooming,  and  perfumed  as  in  those 
glorious  days  of  our  first  love. 

I  who  am  not  a  sensitive  plant  of  the  sun  like 
you,  have  come  through  the  trial  better,  and  if  I 
bear  no  blossom,  I  have  at  least  the  advantage  of 
preserving  my  leaves  ever  green  and  alive;  that 
is  to  say,  I  have  never  ceased  to  love  and  adore 
you.  Indeed,  that  is  true,  my  own,  I  love  you  as 
much  as  the  first  day.  JULIETTE. 

ii  a.  m.,  Sunday,  April  22d,  1838. 

YOU  see,   darling,  by   the  dimensions  of  my 

261 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

paper  that  I  am  preparing  to  go  and  applaud  my 
Marion  this  evening.  I  will  not  reproach  you 
for  not  having  come  this  morning.  In  fact,  in 
future  I  shall  not  allude  to  it  again,  for  nothing 
is  more  unsuitable  or  ridiculous  than  the  solicita- 
tions of  a  woman  who  vainly  appeals  for  the 
favors  of  her  lover.  Therefore,  beloved,  since  I 
am  to  live  with  you  as  a  sister  with  a  brother,  you 
will  approve  of  my  refraining  from  reminding 
you  in  any  way  of  the  time  when  we  were  husband 
and  wife. 

It  is  still  very  cold,  my  maid  says ;  although  the 
sun  is  shining  in  at  my  windows  it  has  left  its 
warmth  in  the  sky.  It  resembles  the  fine  phrases 
of  a  suitor  who  no  longer  loves ;  his  words  may  be 
the  same,  his  expressions  as  tender,  his  language 
as  impassioned,  but  love  is  lacking — and  those 
words  which  scintillate  as  the  sun  upon  my  win- 
dows, fail  to  warm  the  heart  of  the  poor  woman 
who  had  dreamt  of  love  eternal. 

You  will  probably  see  Granier  this  morning.3 
I  hope  so,  so  that  you  may  not  be  worried  any 
more  about  that  business.  I  also  hope  Jourdain 
will  come  to-morrow  about  the  chimney.  It  is 
unbearable  that  one  should  have  to  wait  upon  the 

3  Granier  de  Cassagnac,  one  of  the  most  ardent  champions  of 
Victor  Hugo  against  the  classical  writers.  The  poet  had  intro- 
duced him  to  the  Journal  des  Debats. 

262 


To  Victor  Hugo 

whim  of  a  workman  for  a  job  which  might  be 
finished  in  a  few  minutes,  and  that  would  please 
you  so  much.  I  have  read  with  pleasure  the 
verses  that  came  to  you  in  the  newspaper  from 
Guadaloupe ;  they  show  that  you  are  admired  over 
there  as  much  as  here,  and  that  you  have  fewer 
enemies  abroad  than  at  the  Academic  Franchise. 
I  am  furious  with  that  little  imp  called  Thiers, 
who  although  he  is  not  a  quarter  of  a  man  as  far 
as  size  goes,  yet  permits  himself  to  cherish  the 
rancor  of  a  giant.  Miserable  little  wretch,  if 
only  I  were  not  a  woman,  that  I  might  castigate 
you  as  you  deserve ! 

And  you,  my  Toto,  so  great  and  so  wonderful, 
I  adore  you!  JULIETTE. 

jo. 75  a.  m.,  Thursday,  August  2d,  1838. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  little  beloved.  Do  you  still 
need  a  secretary?  I  am  quite  ready.  Come;  it 
is  so  delightful  to  dip  my  pen  into  your  glorious 
poetry  and  watch  the  shining  and  coruscating  of 
those  precious  gems  which  take  the  shape  of  your 
thoughts.  Dede  could  not  be  more  delighted  and 
dazzled  than  I  am,  if  she  were  given  the  diamonds 
and  jewels  of  the  crown  of  England  to  play  with 
for  an  hour.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  have  spent  the 
night  with  my  Caesar  and  his  noble  companions, 

263 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  would  have  followed  him  without  fatigue 
wherever  he  wanted  to  go,  even  as  far  as.  ... 
But  you  would  not  allow  it,  you  jealous  boy;  you 
feared  comparison,  and  you  were  perfectly  right, 
for  I  like  well-dressed  men.  Good-morning,  my 
Toto.  My  left  eye  is  very  bad ;  it  is  swollen  and 
painful.  If  this  continues  I  shall  no  longer  be  in 
the  position  of  regretting  that  I  cannot  lend  you 
my  eyes  in  exchange  for  your  own.  I  love  you, 
I  adore  you.  Do  not  be  too  long  before  coming 
to  me. 

I  am  longing  for  you  with  all  my  might. 

JULIETTE. 

p. 45  p.  m.t  Wednesday,  August  i^th,  1838. 
JVlY  dear  little  man,  I  love  you.  You  are  the 
treasure  of  my  heart.  I  wish  we  were  already 
in  our  carriage  galloping,  galloping  far,  and  fur- 
ther still,  so  that  it  might  take  us  ever  so  long  to 
get  back. 

Since  you  have  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  my 
playing  in  your  beautiful  piece,4  I  am  like  a  som- 
nambulist who  has  been  made  to  drink  too  much 
champagne.  I  see  everything  magnified:  I  see 
glory,  happiness,  love,  adoration,  in  gigantic  and 

*  Ruy  Bias.  The  poet  had  considered  the  propriety  of  casting 
Juliette  for  the  part  of  the  Queen,  and  had  in  consequence 
caused  her  to  be  engaged  by  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance. 

264 


To  Victor  Hugo 

impossible  dimensions — impossible,  because  I  feel 
you  can  never  love  me  as  I  love  you,  and  that  my 
talent,  however  considerable,  can  never  reach  to 
the  level  of  your  sublime  poetry.  I  do  not  say 
this  from  modesty,  but  because  I  do  not  think 
there  exists  in  this  world  man  or  woman  capable 
of  interpreting  the  parts  as  you  conceived  them 
in  your  master-mind. 

I  love  you,  my  Toto,  I  adore  you,  my  little  man, 
you  are  my  sun  and  my  life,  my  love  and  my 
soul! 

All  that,  and  more.  JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.,  Monday,  September  loth,  1838. 

ARjI  you  proposing  to  cut  out  all  the  dandies 
and  bloods  of  the  capital?  My  congratulations 
to  you.  I  was  only  waiting  for  some  such  sign 
to  give  myself  up  to  an  orgy  of  wild  and  eccentric 
toilette.  Heaven  only  knows  the  extravagances 
I  mean  to  commit  in  the  way  of  shoes,  silk  stock- 
ings, gowns,  hats,  light  gloves,  and  bows  for  my 
hair.  You  will,  I  suppose,  retaliate  with  an  as- 
sortment of  skin-tight  trousers,  strings  of  orders, 
and  more  or  less  absurd  hair  arrangements.  De- 
lightful indeed!  There  only  remains  for  one  of 
us  to  live  at  the  Barriere  de  I'Etoile  and  the  other 
at  the  Barriere  du  Trone,  to  dazzle  the  dwellers  of 

265 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  town  and  suburbs,  as  well  as  strangers  from 
abroad.     Capital ! ! ! 

My  sore  throat  has  come  on  again  and  you  are 
not  here  to  cure  it.  If  you  think  this  pleasant 
you  are  quite  wrong,  and  if  I  followed  my  own 
bent  I  should  deprive  you  of  your  functions  as 
doctor-in-chief  of  the  great  Juju.  I  am  deter- 
mined to  forgive  you  only  if  you  come  to  supper 
with  me  presently.  Seriously,  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  you  keep  away,  seeing  that  your  Play 
is  in  rehearsal,  that  this  is  our  holiday  time,  and 
that  I  adore  you.  I  am  almost  tempted  to  be  a 
little  jealous,  only  unfortunately,  when  I  mean  to 
be  only  slightly  jealous,  I  become  very  seriously 
so;  therefore  I  try  as  much  as  possible  to  spare 
myself  that  discomfort.  You  would  be  sweet  and 
kind,  my  Toto,  if  you  would  come  and  eat  my 
frugal  dinner  with  me  to-night  and  ...  I  am 
going  to  concentrate  my  thoughts  upon  you  so  as 
to  magnetize  you  and  bring  you  back  in  the  short- 
est possible  time  to  your  faithful  old  Juju  who 
loves  and  adores  you.  My  first  proceeding  is  to 
kiss  your  eyes,  your  mouth,  and  your  dear  little 
feet.  JULIETTE. 

12  noon,  Tuesday,  October  joth,  1838. 

JM.Y  beloved  little  man,  you  are  so  good  and 

266 


To  Victor  Hugo 

sweet  when  you  see  me  that  it  is  a  pity  you  should 
see  me  so  seldom  and  that  you  should  forget  me 
as  soon  as  your  back  is  turned.  To  punish  you, 
I  am  not  going  to  write  you  two  letters  to-day, 
first  of  all  in  consideration  for  your  dear  little 
eyes,  and  secondly  because  it  would  be  unfair  to 
reward  indifference  and  coldness  in  the  same  de- 
gree as  affection  and  assiduity.  Pray  do  not  take 
the  above  expression,  "dear  little  eyes"  in  an 
ironical  sense — I  mean  it  on  the  contrary  as  an 
endearing  diminutive ;  your  "dear  little  eyes"  sig- 
nify to  me,  my  adored,  beautiful  eyes,  the  mirror 
of  my  soul,  the  stars  of  my  heaven,  everything 
that  is  most  beautiful  and  fascinating,  gentlest, 
noblest,  and  highest. 

I  love  you,  my  Toto.  I  kiss  your  ripe  red  lips, 
your  dazzling  teeth,  your  little  hands,  and  your 
twinkling  feet.  I  am  writing  only  your  little 
daily  bulletin,  because  your  eyes  are  bad  and  you 
have  no  time  to  waste;  neither  do  I  wish  to  tire 
or  bore  you,  but  only  to  make  you  love  me  a  little 
bit.  JULIETTE. 

8. 30  p.  m.,  Thursday,  November  22d,  1838. 
JMY  little  treasure  of  a  man,  you  were  sweet  to 
select  my  hovel  for  a  resting-place  from  which  to 
write  your  laudatory  remarks  upon  Mile.  Atala 

267 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Beauchene,5  commonly  called  Beaudouin.  It 
gave  me  a  chance  to  admire  your  charming  profile 
and  kiss  your  beautiful  shining  locks.  I  thank 
you  for  that  happiness  and  I  consent  to  your  in- 
diting daily  effusions  concerning  that  lady,  if  only 
you  do  so  in  my  room  and  under  my  eyes. 

As  you  promised  to  come  back  presently,  the 
chances  are  that  you  will  not  return.  I  have  half 
a  mind  to  undress,  light  my  fire,  and  set  to  work 
to  bruise  poppy-heads ;  for  my  provision  is  almost 
at  an  end,  and  later  on  I  may  be  busy  at  the 
theater,  if  Joly 6  persists  in  his  crazy  idea  of  giv- 
ing us  a  whole  week's  rehearsals  of  a  piece  which  is 
only  to  be  played  four  months  hence.  It  is  an 
inducement  to  use  the  time  at  my  disposal  now,  to 
prepare  your  little  daily  remedy. 

I  love  you,  Victor,  I  love  you,  my  darling 
Toto. 

JULIETTE. 

6  p.  m.,  Monday,  April  itfh,  1839. 
WHY  is  it,  my  little  beloved,  that  you  always 
seem  so  jealous  ?     You  take  the  bloom  off  all  those 
scraps  of  happiness  your  dear  presence  would 

5  The  creator  of  the  part  of  the  Queen  in  Ruy  Bias.  The 
first  performance  had  taken  place  on  the  8th  of  November. 

6Antenor  Joly,  Manager  of  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance. 
He  had  intended  to  produce  Juliette  in  a  musical  comedy. 

268 


To  Victor  Hugo 

otherwise  give  me,  for  nothing  chills  one's  em- 
braces so  much  as  the  vexed,  uneasy  mien  you 
usually  wear.  It  would  not  even  be  so  bad  if 
you  did  not  accuse  me  of  that  same  constrained, 
annoyed  look;  but  the  more  suspicious  you  are, 
the  more  you  think  it  is  I  who  am  cross,  although 
this  is  simply  the  effect  of  the  glasses  through 
which  your  jealousy  views  me.  Never  mind,  I  love 
you  and  forgive  you,  and  if  you  will  only  come 
and  take  me  out  a  little  this  evening  and  show  me 
part  of  Lucrece  I  shall  be  happy  and  content. 
What  a  beautiful  day!  I  would  have  given  days 
and  even  months  for  the  chance  of  strolling  by 
your  side  wherever  your  reverie  led  you.  Alas, 
it  is  I  who  am  sad,  and  with  excellent  reason! 
As  for  you,  you  old  lunatic,  what  have  you  to 
complain  of?  You  are  adored,  and  you  are  free 
to  accept  and  make  use  of  that  sentiment  as  much 
and  as  often  as  you  desire;  perhaps  that  is  why 
you  desire  it  so  seldom.  .  .  .  But  let  us  talk  of 
other  things.  Please  love  me  a  little,  while  I  give 
you  my  whole  soul.  JULIETTE. 

6. jo  p.  m.,  Sunday,  October  2fth,  1839. 
HERE  I  am  at  my  scribbling  again,  my  Toto. 
It  is  a  sad  pleasure,  if  any,  after  the  two  months 
of  love  and  intimacy  which  have  just  elapsed. 

269 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Here  I  sit  again  with  my  ink  and  paper,  my  faults 
of  spelling,  my  stupidity,  and  my  love.  When 
we  were  traveling  I  did  not  need  all  this  para- 
phernalia to  be  happy.  It  was  enough  for  me  to 
worship  you,  and  God  knows  whether  I  did  that ! 
Here  I  do  not  love  you  less — on  the  contrary — 
but  I  live  far  from  you,  I  long  for  you,  I  worry 
about  you,  I  am  unhappy — that  is  all.  Still,  I  am 
not  ungrateful  nor  forgetful;  I  fully  appreciate 
that  you  have  just  given  me  nearly  two  months 
of  bliss.  I  still  feel  upon  my  lips  the  touch  of 
your  kisses  and  upon  my  hand  the  pressure  of 
yours.  But  the  felicity  I  have  experienced  only 
throws  into  greater  relief  the  void  your  absence 
leaves  in  my  life.  When  you  are  no  longer  by 
my  side,  I  cease  to  exist,  to  think,  to  hope.  I  de- 
sire you  and  I  suffer.  Therefore  I  dread  as  much 
as  death  itself,  the  return  to  that  hideous  Paris, 
where  there  is  naught  for  lovers  who  love  as  we 
love,  not  sunshine,  nor  that  confidence  which  is 
the  sunshine  of  love, — nothing  but  rain,  suspicion, 
jealousy,  the  three  blackest,  saddest,  iciest,  of  the 
scourges  which  can  afflict  body  and  heart.  Oh, 
I  am  wretched,  my  Toto,  in  proportion  to  my  love ; 
it  is  true,  my  adored  one,  and  it  will  ever  be  thus, 
when  you  are  not  with  me. 

JULIETTE. 
270 


To  Victor  Hugo 

10  a.  m.}  Friday,  November  ist, 
CrOOD  morning,  my  dear  little  beloved,  my  dar- 
ling little  man.  You  told  me  so  definitely  yester- 
day that  my  handwriting  was  hideous  and  my 
scrawl  nothing  but  a  horrible  maze  in  which  you 
lose  both  patience  and  love,  that  I  hardly  dare 
write  to  you  to-day,  and  it  would  take  very  little 
to  make  me  cease  our  correspondence  altogether. 
We  must  have  an  explanation  on  this  subject,  for 
it  is  cruel  of  you  to  force  me  to  make  myself 
ridiculous  night  and  morning,  simply  because  I 
love  you  and  am  the  saddest  and  loneliest  of 
women.  If  my  love  must  be  drowned  in  my  igno- 
rance and  stupidity,  at  least  do  not  force  me  to 
make  the  plunge  myself.  There  was  a  time  when 
you  would  not  have  noticed  the  ugliness  of  my 
writing;  you  would  only  have  read  my  meaning 
and  been  happy  and  grateful.  Now  you  laugh, 
which  is  shabby  and  wicked  of  you.  This  seems 
to  be  the  fate  of  all  the  Quasimodo  of  this  world, 
moral  and  physical;  they  are  jeered  at,  for  form 
is  everything,  spirit  nothing.  Even  if  I  could 
constrain  my  crabbed  scrawl  to  say:  "my  soul  is 
beautiful,"  you  would  not  be  any  the  less  amused. 
Therefore,  my  dear  little  man,  pending  the  mo- 
ment when  I  can  join  in  the  laugh  against  myself, 
I  think  it  would  be  as  well  to  suspend  these  daily 

271 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

lucubrations.  Besides,  the  moment  has  come 
when  I  must  turn  all  my  time  and  energies  to- 
wards making  my  position  secure.  Nothing  in 
this  world  can  turn  me  from  my  purpose,  for  it  is 
to  me  a  question  of  life  and  death,  and  Heaven 
knows  that  in  all  these  seven  years  I  have  never 
failed  to  tell  you  so  whenever  there  has  been  an 
opportunity.  I  count  upon  you  to  help  me,,  my 
beloved.  I  am  asking  you  for  more  than  life  — 
for  the  moral  consummation  of  our  marriage  of 
love.  Let  me  go  with  you  wherever  my  happi- 
ness is  threatened  ;  let  me  be  the  wife  of  your  mind 
and  heart  if  I  cannot  be  yours  in  law.  If  I 
express  myself  badly,  do  not  scoff,  but  understand 
that  I  have  a  right  to  put  into  words  what  you 
yourself  have  felt,  and  that  I  insist  upon  defend- 
ing my  own  against  all  those  women  who  get  at 
you  under  pretext  of  serving  you.  I  will  have  my 
turn,  for  I  love  you  and  am  jealous.  J. 


(5.JO  p.  m.,  Friday,  November  1st, 

YOU  are  good,  my  adored  one,  and  I  am  a 
wretch  ;  but  I  love  you  while  you  only  permit  your- 
self to  be  loved;  that  is  what  makes  you  so  tran- 
quil and  me  so  bitter.  My  heart  is  burthened 
with  jealousy  this  evening  and  nothing  less  than 
your  adored  presence  will  suffice  to  calm  me,  for 

272 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  carry  hell  and  all  the  furies  within  my  soul.  I 
wish  I  could  be  sewn  to  the  lining  of  your  coat  to- 
night, for  I  feel  I  am  about  to  encounter  some 
great  danger  that  I  can  only  defeat  by  not  leaving 
your  side.  If  my  fears  are  well-founded  I  shall 
probably  fail  in  averting  the  doom  that  threatens 
me,  for  you  will  not  be  able  to  stay  with  me  all 
the  evening.  The  compliments  and  flattery  you 
will  receive  will  take  you  from  me.  I  cannot 
deny  that  I  am  unhappy  and  jealous  and  would 
much  rather  be  with  you  at  Fontainebleau,  at  the 
Hotel  de  France,  than  in  Box  C  of  the  Theatre 
Frangais  even  when  Marion  de  Lorme  is  being 
played.  Kiss  me,  my  little  man;  you  are  very 

* 

sweet  in  your  new  greatcoat,  but  you  had  not  told 
me  you  had  been  to  your  tailor,  I  shall  keep  up 
with  you,  by  sending  for  my  dressmaker.  I  do 
not  mean  to  surrender  to  you  the  palm  for  smart- 
ness and  dandyism.  Ha !  who  is  caught  ?  Toto ! 
Toto! 

Resilieux  is  beaming,  Claire  is  happy,  Suzanne 
is  an  idiot ;  such  is  the  condition  of  the  household. 
I  am  all  three  at  the  same  time,  plus  the  adoration 
I  profess  energetically  for  your  imperial  and 
sacred  person.  Kiss  me  and  be  careful  of  your- 
self this  evening.  JULIETTE. 


273 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

12  noon,  Monday,  November  4th,  1839. 

CrOOD  morning,  treasure.  It  is  twelve  by  my 
clock,  which  is  several  hours  fast,  but  I  have  been 
up  some  little  time.  I  have  dressed  my  child  and 
she  is  now  practicing  on  the  piano.  I  spent  the 
night  thinking  over  what  you  said,  my  adored 
one.  One  luminous  phrase  especially  stands  out 
and  scorches  my  soul.  Perhaps  you  only  said  it 
idly  as  one  of  the  compliments  one  is  constrained 
to  make  to  the  woman  who  loves  one?  I  know 
not,  but  I  do  know  that  I  have  taken  the  assur- 
ance you  gave  me  that  you  have  never  really 
loved  any  woman  but  me,  as  a  sacred  thing,  un- 
alterably true.  I  adore  you  and  had  never  felt 
even  the  semblance  of  love  until  I  met  you.  I 
love  and  adore  you  and  shall  love  and  adore  you 
forever,  for  love  is  the  essence  of  my  body,  my 
heart,  my  life  and  my  soul.  Believe  this,  my 
treasure,  for  it  is  God's  own  truth.  Your  dread 
of  seeing  me  reenter  theatrical  life  will  quickly 
be  dissipated  by  the  probity  and  steadiness  of  my 
conduct.  I  hope,  and  am  certain  of  this.  You 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  me  wherever  I  may  be. 
I  adore  you,  I  venerate  you.  If  I  could  do  as 
you  wish  and  renounce  the  theater,  that  is  to  say 
my  sole  chance  of  securing  my  future,  I  would 
do  so  without  hesitation  and  without  your  having 


To  Victor  Hugo 

to  urge  it,  simply  to  please  you.  But,  my  be- 
loved, I  feel  it  were  easier  to  relinquish  life  itself 
than  the  hope  of  paying  my  creditors  and  making 
myself  independent  by  earning  my  own  living. 
If  I  were  to  make  this  sacrifice  I  am  sure  my  de- 
spair would  bring  about  some  irreparable  catas- 
trophe that  would  weigh  upon  you  all  your  days. 

My  adored  one,  do  not  try  to  turn  me  from  the 
only  thing  that  can  bring  me  peace  and  make  me 
believe  in  your  love.  Help  me  and  do  not  for- 
sake me  unless  I  give  you  just  cause  to  do  so. 
Spend  your  whole  life  in  loving  me,  in  exchange 
for  my  unswerving  loyalty  and  adoration. 

Kiss  me,  my  little  man. 

I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

4.45  p.  in.,  Friday,  November  i^th,  1839. 

I  WROTE  the  date  and  hour  on  this  half-sheet 
of  paper,  thinking  it  was  blank.  I  explain  this, 
in  order  that  your  suspicious  mind  may  not  again 
draw  a  flood  of  insulting  deductions  from  a  thing 
that  has  happened  so  simply  and  naturally.  You 
upset  me  just  now  when  you  said  good-by,  be- 
cause you  said  cruel  things.  It  was  a  bad  mo- 
ment to  choose.  Your  manner  to  me  is  enough 
to  discourage  an  angel,  and  I  have  begun  to  ask 
myself  whether  it  is  possible  to  love  a  woman  one 

275 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

does  not  esteem.  If  you  esteemed  me  you  would 
not  forever  suspect  my  words,  my  silence,  my 
actions,  my  conduct;  if  you  loved  me,  you  would 
know  how  to  appreciate  my  honesty  and  fidelity, 
whereas  even  in  the  tenderest  moments  of  our 
most  intimate  communion,  you  never  fail  to  say 
something  cruel  and  disheartening.  I  often  say 
one  might  almost  imagine  you  were  under  a 
promise  to  someone  to  tire  out  my  love  by  in- 
flicting pain  upon  me  on  every  occasion,  but  I 
hope  you  will  never  succeed  in  doing  this. 

I  suffer,  I  despair  at  heart,  but  I  love  you  so 
far,  and  I  hope  for  both  our  sakes  that  I  always 
shall.  I  cling  to  my  love  even  more  than  to  your 
esteem,  for  the  latter  is  a  poor  blind  thing  that 
cannot  distinguish  night  from  day,  candle-light 
from  sunshine,  or  an  honest  woman  from  a  har- 
lot. 

My  love  is  more  clear-sighted.  It  was  at- 
tracted at  once  by  your  physical  and  spiritual  per- 
fection, and  has  never  confused  you  with  any 
other  of  the  human  species.  I  love  you,  Toto. 
Torment  me,  drive  me  to  desperation  if  you  will, 
but  you  shall  never  succeed  in  diminishing  my 
affection.  My  head  aches,  little  man,  and  the 
thoughts  that  fill  it  at  this  moment  are  not  cal- 
culated to  cure  its  pain.  I  press  my  hand  upon 

276 


To  Victor  Hugo 

my  brow  to  crush  thought,  and  I  open  my  heart 
to  all  that  is  good  and  tender  in  my  love  for  you. 
Good-by,  Toto.  I  adore  you.  Good-by.  We 
were  very  happy  this  morning,  let  us  try  to  be 
so  again  very  soon. 

In  the  meantime  I  adore  you. 

JULIETTE. 

8.45,  Wednesday,  November  20th,  1839. 

1  AM  in  despair.  I  wish  I  were  dead  and  every- 
thing at  an  end.  The  more  precautions  I  take, 
the  more  I  purge  my  life,  the  less  happiness  I 
achieve.  It  is  as  if  I  were  accursed  and  I  often 
feel  a  wild  desire  to  behave  as  if  I  were,  and 
crush  my  love  underfoot.  I  am  so  unhappy  that 
I  lose  all  courage  and  hope  for  the  future.  You 
were  very  good  to  me  when  you  were  going  away, 
but  that  does  not  prove  that  when  you  come  back 
presently  you  may  not  be  the  most  insulting  and 
unjust  of  men.  I  sacrifice  to  you  one  by  one  all 
my  actions,  even  the  most  insignificant;  I  am 
careful  inwardly  and  outwardly  to  cause  you  no 
sort  of  offense,  and  yet  I  am  unsuccessful!  My 
struggles  only  fatigue  and  dishearten  me.  On 
the  eve  of  taking  the  great  step  which  would  bind 
us  to  each  other  even  closer  than  we  already  are, 
would  it  not  be  better  for  us  to  break  off  our  re- 

277 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

lations  and  put  a  stop  to  the  whole  thing  instead  ? 
I  can  understand  now  the  generosity  of  Didier, 
who  elects  to  die  upon  the  scaffold  forgiving 
Marion  with  his  last  breath,  rather  than  live  per- 
secuting and  torturing  her  with  the  recollection 
of  her  past,  and  with  suspicions  a  thousand  times 
more  painful  than  death  and  oblivion.  Ah,  yes, 
I  can  understand  a  Didier  like  that.  ...  I 
suffer!  Ah,  God,  people  who  do  pot  love  are 
very  fortunate !  I  love  you,  and  I  know  that  fail- 
ing some  violent  remedy  I  shall  continue  to  suffer 
and  care  for  you.  I  admit  that  all  these  things 
I  write  are  absurd,  and  that  it  would  be  wiser  to 
throw  this  letter  into  the  fire,  and  keep  to  myself 
the  thousand  and  one  follies  inspired  by  my  de- 
spair. JULIETTE. 

5.50  p.  m.,  Monday,  December  i6th,  1839. 

YOU  did  well,  my  adored  one,  to  come  back 
after  the  painful  incident  we  had  just  gone 
through.  If  you  had  not,  I  should  have  been 
wretched  all  the  evening.  Thank  you,  my  be- 
loved Toto,  thank  you,  my  love.  You  looked 
very  preoccupied,  my  treasure,  when  you  came 
up  the  first  time.  I  gathered  that  Guirault's 
letter  had  something  to  do  with  this  and  that  you 
were  meditating  your  answer.  Beyond  that,  I 

278 


To  Victor  Hugo 

did  not  take  much  notice,  for  I  was  too  furious 
with  you  to  be  able  to  think  of  anything. 

If  you  knew  how  much  I  love  you  and  how 
faithful  I  am  to  you,  my  adored  one,  you  would  be 
less  suspicious.  Suspicion  is  an  insult  that  makes 
me  frantic  because  it  proves  to  me  that  you  do  not 
believe  in  either  my  honesty  or  my  love.  Jealousy 
is  another  thing:  one  can  be  jealous  of  a  face  or 
a  person,  because  however  sure  one  may  be  of 
one's  own  superiority,  one  may  still  fear  that 
some  beast  or  monster  may  be  preferred  to  one- 
self ;  but  jealousy,  I  repeat,  is  different  from  ever- 
lasting suspicion  of  one's  actions  and  even  of 
one's  negative  conduct  and  inaction.  Finally,  I 
differentiate  between  jealousy  and  suspicion;  I 
feel  there  is  a  great  gulf  between  my  jealousy  and 
yours,  and  yet  I  love  you  more  than  you  love  me, 
— you  can  not  gainsay  that — if  you  admit  it,  I 
will  pardon  all  your  misdeeds  and  adore  you  and 
kiss  your  dear  little  feet.  Hurrah!  I  am  to  have 
my  wardrobe!  Hurrah! 

You  will  not  be  an  Academician,  but  you  will 
always  be  my  dear  little  lover. 

JULIETTE. 

5  p.  m.,  Thursday,  January  i6th,  1840. 

I  LOVE  you,  my  Toto,  and  am  sad  at  seeing  you 

279 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

so  seldom.  But  I  know  how  much  you  have  to  do, 
my  little  man,  so  I  am  not  angry  with  you — still 
that  does  not  prevent  me  from  being  horribly  sad. 
Money  melts  in  my  pocket.  I  was  reading  yes- 
terday a  description  of  Monsieur  de  Sevigne,  the 
son,  which  applies  wonderfully  to  me.  "He  had 
no  hobbies,  did  not  entertain,  gave  no  presents, 
wore  plain  attire,  gambled  not  at  all,  had  only 
one  servant  and  not  a  single  horse  on  which  to 
ride  out  with  the  King  or  the  Dauphin;  yet  his 
hand  was  like  a  crucible  wherein  gold  is  melted." 
I  am  rather  like  that.  I  do  not  give  many  pres- 
ents, I  wear  the  same  dress  for  a  year  at  a  time, 
I  only  do  expensive  cooking  when  you  are  coming 
to  dine  with  me,  I  have  only  one  servant,  and  yet 
money  disappears  in  my  establishment  like  snow 
under  the  rays  of  the  sun.  With  me,  it  is  not  my 
hand  that  is  the  crucible,  but  my  past  life,  which 
is  like  an  abyss  that  all  the  money  in  the  world 
would  find  it  difficult  to  fill.  That  is  why  I  am 
sad.  Love  me,  my  Toto,  and  above  all  do  not  kill 
yourself  with  working  for  everybody  as  you  do, 
without  respite.  I  can  sell  something  I  do  not 
want,  whereas  your  health  and  repose  are  indis- 
pensable to  my  welfare  and  tranquillity.  Re- 
member that,  my  dear  one,  and  do  not  be  over 
scrupulous  at  the  expense  of  the  real  considera- 

280 

v 


To  Victor  Hugo 

tion  which  makes  my  happiness.     When  shall  I 
see  you  again,  treasure?  JULIETTE. 

1. 15  p.  m.,  Sunday,  March  22d,  1840. 
CjOOD  morning,  my  beloved  Toto.  I  read  the 
manuscript  of  Didine  over  again  last  night,  and 
I  shed  all  the  tears  I  had  restrained  in  your  pres- 
ence. I  am  more  convinced  than  ever  that  you 
committed  an  act  of  unfaithfulness  against  our 
love  when  you  composed  those  lines.  I  do  not 
see  how  you  can  hope  to  persuade  me  to  the  con- 
trary, or  wonder  that  I  am  wounded  to  the  quick 
by  such  a  mental  and  spiritual  lapse.  Jealousy 
is  not  excited  only  by  infidelities  of  the  senses,  but 
primarily  by  such  an  infidelity  as  that  which  you 
committed  in  writing  these  verses  and  concen- 
trating your  gaze  and  thoughts  upon  that  young 
girl,  while  my  whole  heart  and  soul  were  raised 
in  prayer  for  you  in  that  church  at  Strasbourg.  I 
will  never  go  back  there,  either  to  the  church  or 
to  the  town.  There  is  an  end  of  that.  Would 
to  God  we  had  never  gone  there  at  all.  I  should 
have  preserved  one  illusion  more,  and  suffered 
one  sorrow  less.  Well,  well,  it  is  not  your  fault. 
You  wished  to  carry  away  the  memory  of  that 
woman,  as  you  could  not  possess  her  person,  and 
you  have  written  some  very  beautiful  lines  which 

281 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

prove,  in  the  same  degree  as  my  pain,  what  a 
profound  and  striking  impression  she  produced 
upon  you.  I  hope  you  may  never  experience  a 
jealousy  so  well- justified  as  mine  about  any 
woman  you  may  love  in  the  future ;  for  myself  I 
desire  a  speedy  recovery  from  the  most  miserable 
infatuation  in  all  this  world. 

JULIETTE. 

6.45  p.  m.,  Monday,  June  1st,  1840. 

1  AM  writing  to  you  in  the  company  of  Resilieux, 
my  love,  but  that  does  not  restore  to  me  the  gayety 
I  have  lost  since  this  morning.  That  woman  and 
her  persistence  annoy  me  more  than  I  can  say. 
When  I  think  of  the  close  confinement  in  which 
I  live,  and  realize  the  depth  and  devotion  of  the 
love  I  bear  you,  I  am  indignant  to  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  that  a  wretched  woman  of  the  street 
should  dare  to  cast  the  eye  of  envy  upon  a  passion 
which  constitutes  the  religion  and  adoration  of 
my  whole  life.  If  I  listened  to  my  own  inclina- 
tion, I  should  make  a  terrible  example  of  the 
hussy  and  her  low  caprice,  and  no  other  would 
venture  an  attempt  to  capture  your  affections 
for  many  a  long  day.  I  am  wretched  since  this 
morning.  I  think  myself  plain,  old,  stupid,  badly 
dressed — and  all  because  I  tremble  for  the  safety 

282 


To  Victor  Hugo 

of  my  love,  because  I  am  afraid  for  my  poor  little 
slice  of  happiness.  Alas!  Alas!  My  Toto,  I 
care  too  much  for  you ;  it  is  crazy  of  me.  I  did 
so  hope  that  when  your  family  was  settled  in  the 
country,  you  would  sometimes  come  and  take  me 
out  with  you — but  on  the  contrary,  in  a  whole 
month  I  have  only  been  out  once  with  you ;  for  I 
do  not  count  those  two  evenings  at  the  theater, 
when  I  drove  there  and  back  in  a  carriage.  It 
would  be  a  cruel  jest  if  you  considered  those  as 
going  out  with  you.  I  am  not  well.  I  have 
rushes  of  blood  to  the  head  and  heart,  but  you  do 
not  care.  I  shall  not  do  my  monthly  accounts  to- 
night ;  my  head  aches  too  badly.  Perhaps  I  may 
try  to-morrow.  The  laundress  has  been  here  and 
I  have  paid  her ;  I  shall  probably  get  the  grocer's 
bill  to-morrow,  but  I  shall  certainly  not  pay  it 
unless  you  have  plundered  some  passer-by  to- 
night. Meanwhile,  I  love  you,  my  Toto.  Din- 
ner has  just  been  announced;  I  shall  not  be  as 
happy  as  yesterday,  for  you  are  not  dining  with 
me;  but  perhaps  as  I  am  alone  I  shall  be  able  to 
ruminate  over  my  good  fortune,  for  I  was  hardly 
able  to  realize  it  at  all  yesterday  with  all  those 
females  about.  JULIETTE. 


283 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

p.jo  a.  m.,  January  fth,  1841. 
CjOOD  morning,  my  darling  Toto,  to  whom  I 
dare  not  yet  give  his  prospective  title,  for  I  am 
very  doubtful  of  the  integrity  of  old  Dupaty.  I 
hope  you  will  not  keep  me  waiting  too  long  for  the 
result  of  the  rabid  voting  of  the  opposing  parties.7 
The  contest  becomes  more  and  more  curious  and 
interesting.  I  wish  it  were  already  four  o'clock. 
The  weather  is  not  very  propitious  for  that 
moribund  scoundrel.  It  would  be  difficult  to  let 
him  down  through  the  window,  and  still  more  so 
to  transport  him  to  the  place  where  we  do  not 
wish  him  to  be.  If  the  computation  is  correct,  the 
mortal  illness  of  the  old  wretch  should  give  you 
the  place  by  a  majority  of  one  vote  at  the  first 
scrutiny;  but  what  about  a  black-ball?  Perhaps 
this  time  it  will  come  from  the  ignoble  creature 
who  walks  under  the  filthy,  greasy,  hideous  hat 
of  that  beast  Dupaty.  I  wish  we  were  already 
at  this  afternoon,  that  I  might  know  what  the 
foul  old  man  has  dared  to  do.  Until  then  I  shall 
look  at  my  clock  many  and  many  a  time.  Try, 
my  love,  to  come  at  once  and  tell  me  the  result 

7  Victor  Hugo  had  already  submitted  himself  three  times  as  a 
candidate  for  the  Academic  and  was  elected  the  fourth  time, 
that  is  to  say,  the  day  Juliette  wrote  this  letter.  His  chief 
adversary  in  the  Academic  was  one  of  his  former  rivals,  the 
Vaudevillist,  Dupaty. 

284 


To  Victor  Hugo 

whatever  it  may  be.  I  shall  at  least  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you,  which  will  add  to  the  joy 
of  your  nomination  or  console  me  for  your  defeat. 
By  the  way,  you  were  so  shabby  last  night  that 
one  might  suppose  you  were  preparing  to  contest 
the  palm  of  bad  dressing  with  that  old  pickpocket 
Dupaty.  I  shall  forgive  you  your  untidiness  if 
you  are  successful.  I  love  you. 

JULIETTE. 

6  p.  m.}  Thursday,  January  fth,  1841. 

I  AM  enchanted  for  everybody's  sake,  my  dear 
Academician,  that  at  last  you  are  elected.  There 
you  are  at  last,  thanks  to  the  seventeen  votes  of 
your  friends  and  in  spite  of  your  fifteen  adver- 
saries. You  are  an  Academician.  Hurrah ! 

I  wish  I  could  have  witnessed  with  my  own  eyes 
the  grimaces  of  all  those  contemptible  old  things 
and  heard  the  profession  of  faith  of  that  horrible 
Dupaty;  you  ought  to  indemnify  me  by  showing 
me  your  own  beautiful  countenance  for  a  little 
more  than  a  paltry  five  minutes  as  you  did  just 
now.  I  love  you,  Toto,  as  much  as  the  first  day 
and  more  than  ever.  But  alas,  I  dare  not  believe 
the  same  of  you,  for  I  do  not  see  much  proof  of  it, 
as  my  maid  would  say.  The  fact  is  that  whether 
as  an  Academician  or  a  candidate  or  nothing  at 

285 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

all,  I  hardly  see  you  more  than  an  hour  a  day. 
This  is  neither  novel  nor  consoling;  it  becomes 
more  and  more  sad  and  painful.  Think  of  that, 
my  love,  and  come  very  soon  after  you  have  read 
my  letter. 

I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

10.45  a.  m.,  Sunday,  April  nth,  1841. 

CjrOOD  morning,  my  beloved  Toto,  my  adored 
little  man.  How  are  you,  my  darling?  I  am 
afraid  you  may  have  tired  yourself  last  night 
reading  your  splendid  speech  to  me.  Poor  be- 
loved, it  would  be  a  calamity  that  my  pleasure 
should  cost  you  so  dear;  it  would  be  unjust  and 
cruel.  I  hope  it  is  not  so,  my  adored  one,  and 
that  you  have  not  been  punished  for  your  kind- 
ness. 

What  a  magnificent  address  and  how  stupid  it 
is  of  me  only  to  appreciate  it  inwardly  and  to  be 
incapable  of  expressing  my  feelings  better  than  by 
inarticulate  grunts.  It  is  not  my  fault,  but  since 
I  have  learned  to  love  you  I  have  not  been  able 
to  resign  myself  to  my  limitations;  every  time 
the  opportunity  presents  itself  to  admire  you  I  am 
furious  with  myself  and  should  like  to  slap  and 
kick  myself — though  my  poor  body  would  have 
no  time  to  recover  between  the  assaults,  for  every 

286 

v 


To  Victor  Hugo 

single  thing  you  say  and  do  is  as  admirable  and 
striking  as  your  written  works.  So  I  should  be 
kept  busy.  Fortunately  you  do  not  object  to  my 
want  of  intelligence;  you  know  the  quality  and 
proportions  of  my  love.  All  my  intelligence  and 
being  have  turned  to  spirit,  to  idolize  you.  I  may 
be  only  a  goose  outwardly,  but  inwardly  I  am 
sublime  with  devotion.  Which  is  best?  I  can- 
not tell,  it  is  for  you  to  decide.  Meanwhile  I  am 
the  most  fortunate  of  women  to  have  heard  the 
beginning  of  your  beautiful  speech,  and  I  love  you 
with  all  my  strength.  JULIETTE. 

4.30  a.  m.}  Thursday,  June  $d,  1841. 
VjOOD  morning,  my  adored  little  man,  my  be- 
loved Monsieur  I'Academicien!  How  are  you, 
my  Toto?  I  am  very  much  afraid  you  will  be 
horribly  tired  before  this  afternoon,  poor  treas- 
ure ! 8  I  think  you  should  have  had  the  speech 
printed  a  day  earlier  and  have  kept  this  night  free 
for  resting. 

I  really  do  not  know  how  you  will  manage  to 
deliver  your  address  after  these  several  days  of 
grinding  fatigue  and  a  night  spent  in  correcting 
the  proofs  at  the  printing  works.  Nobody  but 

8  Victor  Hugo  was  received  into  the  Academic  by  Monsieur 
de  Salvandy  on  the  3d  of  June,  1841. 

287 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

you  can  accomplish  these  feats  of  endurance. 
Still,  my  beloved,  it  is  time  you  changed  a  mode 
of  living  which  must  kill  you  in  the  long  run.  I 
hope  you  are  going  to  spend  the  remaining  few 
hours  in  your  bed. 

I  already  feel  as  agitated  as  if  I  were  going  to 
make  the  speech  myself.  I  shall  be  in  a  desperate 
state  of  mind  until  you  have  finished  and  Salvandy 
begins  to  speak.  I  shall  have  this  fearful  lump 
on  my  chest  until  then. 

Whatever  happens  I  adore  you. 

JULIETTE. 

5.  jo  p.  m.,  June  $d,  1841. 

WHERE  shall  I  begin,  my  love?  At  your 
divine  feet  or  your  celestial  brow?  What  shall 
I  express  first?  my  admiration,  or  the  adoration 
that  overflows  my  heart  like  your  sublime  genius 
surpasses  the  mediocre  creatures  who  listened  to 
you  without  understanding,  and  gazed  at  you 
without  falling  upon  their  knees!  Ah,  let  me 
mingle  those  two  sentiments  that  dazzle  my  brain 
and  burn  up  my  heart.  I  love  you!  I  admire 
you!  I  adore  you!  You  are  truly  splendid, 
noble,  and  sublime,  my  poet,  my  beloved,  light 
of  my  eyes,  flame  of  my  heart,  life  of  my  life! 
Poor  adored  beloved;  when  I  saw  you  enter,  so 

288 


To  Victor  Hugo 

pale  and  shaken,  I  felt  myself  swooning,  and  but 
for  the  support  of  Madame  Demousseaux  and 
Madame  Pierceau  I  should  have  fallen  to  the 
floor.  Happily  nobody  noticed  my  emotion  and 
when  I  came  to  myself  and  saw  your  sweet  smile 
answering  mine  and  encouraging  me,  I  felt  as  if 
I  were  awaking  from  a  long,  painful  dream, 
though  only  a  second  of  time  had  elapsed. 

Thank  you,  my  adored  one,  for  sparing  a 
thought  to  the  poor  woman  who  loves  you,  at 
that  solemn  moment — I  should  have  said  that 
supreme  moment,  if  the  assemblage  had  not  con- 
sisted for  the  greater  part  of  tiresome  blockheads 
and  vile  scoundrels. 

Thank  you,  my  good  angel,  my  sublime  Victor, 
my  illustrious  child.  I  saw  all  your  dear  little 
family ; 9  lovely  Didine,  charming  Chariot,  and 
dear  little  Toto  who  looked  pale  and  delicate.  I 
kissed  them  all  in  spirit  as  I  did  their  divine 
father. 

J  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

2.30  p.  m.,  Thursday,  July  8th,  1841. 
WHILE  you  are  lording  it  at  the  Academic  10 

9  The  poet's  children. 

10  Victor  Hugo  had  been  elected  Chancellor  of  the  Academic 
Frangaise  on  the  preceding  24th  of  June.       Charles  Nodier  was 
the  President. 

289 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  am  weeping  and  suffering  at  home.  You  might 
have  spared  me  this  pain  by  inviting  me  to  at- 
tend the  sitting,  or  else  staying  away  yourself. 
I  must  warn  you,  my  Toto,  that  this  sort  of  sacri- 
fice and  torment  is  unendurable,  and  if  it  happens 
again  I  do  not  know  what  I  may  do  rather  than 
resign  myself  to  it. 

We  are  not  living  in  the  East,  and  you  have 
not  bought  me,  thank  Heaven !  I  am  free  to  cast 
off  the  yoke  of  proceedings  which  are  neither  just 
nor  kind  nor  affectionate.  I  swear  by  all  I  hold 
most  sacred  in  this  world,  namely  my  love,  that  I 
will  not  submit  a  third  time  to  be  thus  flouted. 
If  you  knew  how  furious  and  miserable  I  am  feel- 
ing at  this  moment  of  writing,  you  would  not  ven- 
ture to  inflict  a  third  trial  of  the  kind  upon  me. 
In  any  case  pray  keep  my  letter  as  a  definite  an- 
nouncement of  what  I  am  capable  of  doing  if  you 
are  so  cruel  as  to  persist  in  your  present  line  of 
conduct.  Meanwhile  I  am  doing  my  best  to  avoid 
taking  any  definitely  fatal  step,  but  I  warn  you 
that  I  cannot  much  longer  remain  mistress  of  my- 
self. JULIETTE. 

i  a.  m. 

i  p.  m.  Hell  in  my  heart  at  noon,  Paradise  at 
midnight,  my  Toto.  I  love  you  and  have  full 

confidence  in  you. 

290 

I 


To  Victor  Hugo 

p.  m.}  Friday,  November  ipth,  1841. 
I  HAVE  IT !  HURRAH ! !  Fancy,  it  has  been 
there  all  the  morning,  yet  nothing  warned  me! 
My  heart  did  not  beat  faster  than  usual,  the  earth 
did  not  tremble,  the  skies  did  not  fall,  in  fact 
everything  remained  in  its  humdrum,  normal  con- 
dition, as  if  nothing  unusual  had  happened — and 
it  was  here  all  the  time!  I  possessed  it  in  my 
room,  under  my  eyes!  Verily  it  can  hardly  be 
credited,  and  if  anybody  but  myself  said  so  I 
should  not  believe  it.  But  what  you  have  got  to 
believe,  my  treasure,  for  indeed  it  is  true,  is  that 
I  love  you  and  that  you  are  the  kindest,  most 
charming,  best,  handsomest,  most  generous,  most 
noble,  and  most  adored  of  men.  That  is  what 
you  must  believe,  because  it  is  God's  own  truth. 
The  cabinet  is  fascinating,  but  what  is  still  nicer 
is  the  way  you  gave  it  to  me.  "The  manner  of 
the  gift  is  better  than  the  gift  itself,"  was  once 
said  by  someone  whose  name  I  have  forgotten. 
When  you  are  the  donor  the  proverb  is  still  more 
applicable.  If  you  had  all  the  treasures  of  the 
universe  to  bestow,  you  would  do  it  with  a  grace 
that  would  enhance  the  value  of  the  gift  a  thou- 
sandfold. As  for  me  I  am  mad  with  delight,  for 
I  believe  you  love  me.  I  may  tell  you  now  that 
last  night  I  cried  helplessly  at  the  thought  of  how 

291 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

much  younger  and  handsomer  you  are  than  I. 
I  anticipated  the  moment  when  you  will  no  longer 
be  able  to  love  me,  and  my  heart  contracted  so  that 
I  should  have  suffocated  without  the  relief  of 
tears.  I  feel  I  shall  certainly  die  the  day  you 
cease  to  care  for  me,  and  I  know  that  no  other 
woman  can  ever  worship  you  as  I  do.  But  I  trust 
that  day  will  never  dawn,  will  it,  my  angel? 
There  are  no  wrinkles  in  the  heart  and  you  will 
see  my  face  only  in  the  reflection  of  your  attach- 
ment, eh,  Victor,  my  beloved  ?  The  while  I  wept 
and  mourned  you  were  thinking  of  me,  my  poor 
sweet,  and  bringing  me  the  cabinet.  We  were 
both  performing  an  act  of  love,  mine  gloomy, 
yours,  charming  and  considerate  like  everything 
you  do.  I  hope  your  present  will  bring  us  both 
happiness  and  that  you  will  adore  me  as  long  as  I 
shall  admire  my  dear  little  cabinet — that  is,  for- 
ever. 

I  HAVE  IT!  WHAT  HAPPINESS!  I  should  like 
to  put  it  in  the  middle  of  the  room  on  a  golden 
table,  or  in  my  bed,  or  carry  it  in  my  arms,  on 
my  heart,  anywhere  in  fact  where  it  could  be 
seen  and  touched.  Meanwhile  I  will  give  it  a 
good  cleaning  to-morrow.  It  is  rather  too  late 
to-night.  I  must  do  some  copying,  and  dine,  and 

292 


To  Victor  Hugo 

send  you  back  the  scribble  you  entrusted  to  me 
yesterday,  so  I  will  put  off  till  to-morrow  —  prin- 
cipally because  I  shall  have  a  better  light  then. 
I  will  clean  it  in  bed,  drawer  by  drawer.  It  will 
be  a  delightful  occupation. 

I  love  you,  I  love  you,  Toto,  I  kiss  you  and 
adore  you,  Toto.  JULIETTE. 


6.30,  Wednesday  evening,  February  pth, 

JL/O  you  really  want  me  to  write,  Toto,  even 
when  my  heart  is  breaking  and  my  soul  brimful  of 
discouragement?  I  obey,  but  if  you  would  only 
listen  to  me,  you  would  allow  me  to  discontinue 
these  daily  scrawls  which  have  never  served  any 
purpose  but  that  of  betraying  the  measure  of  my 
stupidity  and  making  you  tire  of  a  love  become 
absurd  by  dint  of  reiteration.  I  feel  you  only  in- 
sist out  of  kindness,  but  it  seems  futile  to  con- 
tinue this  childish  babble,  which  deceives  neither 
you  nor  me  and  gives  me  no  indication  of  what  is 
passing  in  your  mind.  It  would  be  better,  my  be- 
loved, to  inure  me  gradually  to  a  catastrophe 
which  may  be  nearer  than  I  guess,  than  to  make 
efforts  to  leave  me  an  illusion  which  neither  of  us 
really  shares  nowadays.  A  sad  ending  to  all  our 
past  happiness!  God  grant  it  may  not  be  alto- 

293 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

gether  buried.  This  does  not  prevent  me  from 
doing  you  full  justice,  my  friend.  You  are  kind 
with  a  kindness  full  of  pity  and  divine  indulgence, 
but  you  no  longer  cherish  for  me  the  love  of  a 
man  for  a  woman.  Do  not  pretend  otherwise,  for 
you  cannot  delude  me.  I  bear  you  no  grudge, 
my  Victor,  neither  should  you  bear  me  any,  for 
it  is  no  more  your  fault  than  mine,  that  you  do  not 
love  me  while  I  still  love  you — not  your  fault,  but 
God's,  Who  distributes  unequally  the  amount  of 
love  we  may  each  expend  during  our  lives. 
Happy  he  or  she  to  whom  the  smaller  sum  is  ap- 
portioned— so  much  the  worse  for  him  or  her 
whose  heart  is  inexhaustible.  Now,  my  beloved 
Toto,  I  will  torment  you  no  longer.  I  will  even 
try  to  make  myself  agreeable,  though,  alas,  what 
woman  can  be  agreeable  when  she  is  no  longer 
loved !  But  I  shall  do  my  best,  and  that,  coupled 
with  your  natural  generosity,  may  still  retard  for 
a  few  days  the  greatest  misfortune  of  my  life. 
Fear  nothing  from  me,  my  Victor.  You  have 
to-day  received  the  last  expression  of  my  choler. 
One  may  strike,  and  even  kill,  while  one  feels  one- 
self beloved,  but  one  must  spare  the  man  who  no 
longer  cherishes  one. 

You  see,  my  Victor,  that  you  have  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of,  but  I  beseech  you  to  let  me  off  these 

294 

v 


To  Victor  Hugo 

daily  scribbles  about  things  that  have  no  point  or 
reason. 

I  demand  this  of  your  goodness. 

JULIETTE. 

2. 30  p.  m.,  Thursday,  February  loth,  1842. 
JMY  beloved,  my  adored  Victor,  thank  you! 
You  remove  hell  from  my  heart  and  replace  it 
with  paradise.  Thank  you !  My  life,  my  spirit, 
my  soul,  bless  and  adore  you.  What  a  letter,  my 
God !  I  wanted  to  read  it  kneeling ;  happy  tears 
poured  down  my  cheeks.  You  love  me,  my  dear 
one!  It  must  be  true,  for  you  declare  it  in  the 
loveliest,  sweetest  language  of  the  whole  world. 
You  love  me  although  I  am  ill-tempered,  violent, 
and  stupid ;  you  love  me,  my  good  angel,  because 
you  know  that  your  love  is  the  breath  of  life  to 
me,  and  that  without  it  I  could  no  longer  exist. 
I  also  love  you,  but  only  God  and  myself  know 
how  deeply.  Yesterday  when  you  left  me,  I  was 
on  my  knees  praying  and  kissing  with  tears  the 
footsteps  I  could  hear  fading  away  in  the  street. 
I  could  have  flung  myself  out  of  the  window  and 
died  at  your  feet.  My  despair,  then,  was  as 
poignant  as  the  bliss  I  felt  just  now  when  I  read 
your  adored  letter.  My  Victor,  my  love,  my  life, 
my  joy,  I  love  you  more  than  ever!  I  implore 

295 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

your  forgiveness,  I  throw  myself  at  your  feet  and 
embrace  them.  Thank  you,  my  treasure.  You 
must  be  very  happy,  for  you  have  done  a  lovely 
thing  in  writing  me  the  most  charming,  the  kind- 
est, the  most  wonderful  and  most  adored  letter 
that  ever  issued  from  your  heart. 

JULIETTE. 

4  ' 

p.jo  Thursday,  April  jist,  1842. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  adored  Toto.  How  did  the 
little  invalid  sleep  last  night?  As  for  you,  I  do 
not  even  ask,  my  poor  dear,  for  I  know  you  spend 
all  your  nights  working.  I  love  you,  my  poor 
angel.  I  do  not  know  what  else  to  say,  because 
that  is  the  only  thought  in  my  heart  and  soul ;  to 
love  you  always  and  forever.  Here  comes  the 
bright  sunshine  that  is  going  to  cure  our  poor 
little  man  at  once.1  I  have  not  seen  a  finer  spring 
since  the  one  we  spent  strolling  about  the  heights 
of  Montmartre  together.  I  cannot  think  of  it 
without  tears  of  regret  for  the  days  that  are  gone, 
and  of  gratitude  to  Providence  for  those  few  mo- 
ments of  most  perfect  felicity.  I  would  give  half 
my  life  to  have  it  again,  my  beloved  Toto ;  and  it 
depends  only  upon  you — if  you  wished  it,  we  could 

1  Francois  Victor  Hugo,  whose  childhood  was  extremely  deli- 
cate. 

296 


To  Victor  Hugo 

easily  recover  the  happiness  of  those  days.  Why 
do  you  no  longer  desire  it  ?  I  know  you  have  to 
work,  but  so  you  did  then — Claude  Gueux,  Phil- 
osophie  Melee,  Les  Voix  Interieures,  Les  Chants 
du  Crepuscule,  Angela,  Les  Rayons  et  Les  Om- 
bres and  Ruy  Bias,  are  there  to  prove  it.  In  those 
days  you  loved  me  better  than  you  do  at  present. 
Alas,  I  love  you  more  than  ever,  or  rather,  as 
much  as  the  first  day — that  is,  with  all  my  soul. 

JULIETTE. 

(5.jo  p.  m.,  Saturday,  August  20th,  184.2. 

1  AM  a  strange  creature — at  least  you  think  so, 
do  you  not,  beloved?  But  what  you  take  for 
eccentricity,  caprice,  and  bad-temper,  is  really 
love,  but  an  unhappy  love,  mistrustful  and  anx- 
ious. Everything  is  to  me  a  subject  of  dread  al- 
most amounting  to  despair.  Thus  this  visit  to  the 
Duchesse  d'Orleans,  whither  I  quite  admit  you 
were  kind  enough  to  take  me,  was  simply  a  tor- 
ment on  account  of  the  hour  and  the  circum- 
stances :  I,  badly  dressed,  barely  clean,  and  that 
woman  under  the  prestige  of  a  great  sorrow  2 
which,  next  to  physical  beauty,  is  the  surest  way  to 
your  heart.  I  frankly  confess  that  however  gal- 

2  This  is  an  allusion  to  the  recent  death  of  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
the  friend  and  protector  of  Victor  Hugo. 

297 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

lant  my  love  may  be,  and  whatever  reliance  I 
may  place  upon  your  loyalty,  I  am  not  easy  when 
I  have  to  fight  and  struggle  without  weapons. 
This  result  of  a  surprise  and  a  hurried  rush 
through  Paris  in  a  cab  may  seem  excessive  to  you 
and  verging  on  hysteria;  but  the  fact  is,  my 
adored  one,  that  my  love,  so  long  repressed,  is 
verily  degenerating  into  a  disease,  almost  into 
frenzy.  Everything  hurts  me.  I  am  afraid  of 
everything.  I  am  a  poor  thing  needing  much 
compassion  for  loving  you  so.  If  these  incoher- 
ent expressions  do  not  force  upon  you  the  realiza- 
tion of  the  depth  of  my  devotion,  it  must  be  that 
you  no  longer  care  for  me  or  indeed  have  never 
done  so ;  but  if  on  the  contrary  you  do  understand, 
you  will  pity  and  pardon  me,  and  love  me  all  the 
better,  and  I  am  the  happiest  of  women. 

JULIETTE. 

11.75  a.  m.,  February  iqth,  1843. 
CrOOD  morning,  beloved  Toto,  good  morning, 
adored  one.  I  love  you.  When  I  heard  you  de- 
scribing last  night  the  impression  produced  upon 
you  by  the  rehearsal  of  Lucrece  and  more  espe- 
cially by  the  singing  of  the  guests,  I  seemed  to 
feel  it  all  myself.  The  fact  that  my  love  has  not 
grown  a  day  older,  that  my  admiration  is  still  on 

298 


To  Victor  Hugo 

the  increase,  that  I  think  you  as  handsome  and 
as  young  as  ever,  makes  it  easier  for  me  to  go 
back  to  the  feelings  of  those  days.  Looking  into 
my  heart,  I  seem  to  feel  that  all  this  adulation  and 
joy  and  feast  of  glory  and  love  began  yesterday. 
Alas,  those  ten  years  have  left  traces  only  upon 
my  poor  countenance  and  have  been  as  harsh  to 
it  as  they  have  been  indulgent  to  your  charming 
features. 

I  express  this  somewhat  crudely,  as  I  always 
manage  to  do,  but  it  is  not  my  fault,  my  love,  nor 
anyone  else's.  I  love  you.  Therein  consist  my 
intelligence,  my  wit,  my  superiority ;  beyond  that 
I  am  as  stupid  as  any  other  animal. 

You  must  be  very  busy  to-day  with  the  two  re- 
hearsals,3 and  the  Maxime4  worry  which  falls 
upon  your  devoted  head,  not  to  speak  of  the  great 
business!  I  dare  not  expect  you  to-night  till  very 
late.  Well,  my  dearly  beloved,  I  know  you  do  not 
belong  to  me,  so  I  will  resign  myself  as  cheerfully 
as  may  be  and  put  a  good  face  upon  your  absence. 
Try  to  think  of  me,  my  dear  little  man ;  that  is  all 
I  venture  to  ask  at  this  moment.  As  for  me,  there 

3  Rehearsals  of  Burgraves  at  the  Comedie  Franchise. 

*  An  allusion  to  the  disagreement  of  the  poet  with  Mile. 
Maxime,  to  whom  the  Comedie  Franchise  wished  to  allot  the 
part  of  Guachumara,  and  whom  he  was  afterwards  able  to  re- 
place by  Mile.  Theodorine  (Mme.  Melingue).  '  ^ 

299 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

is  no  more  merit  in  thinking  of  you  and  loving 
you  than  in  breathing. 

I  love  you,  Toto,  as  much  as  life. 

JULIETTE. 


4.30  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  September  i^th, 

WHERE  are  you!  What  are  you  about,  my 
adored  one  !  5  In  what  condition  is  your  family  ? 
What  state  are  you  in  yourself  ?  what  will  happen 
to  us  all  in  our  despair,  if  God  be  not  merciful  to 
us  !  Since  you  left  me  I  can  think  only  of  your 
arrival  at  home.  I  imagine  the  scene:  the  de- 
spairing sobs  of  your  children,  the  expression  of 
your  own  frightful  grief,  so  long  and  sternly  re- 
pressed. All  those  tears  and  sufferings  fall  back 
upon  my  heart  and  rend  it.  I  cannot  bear  more. 
My  poor  head  is  on  fire  and  my  hands  burn  like 
live  coals.  I  want  to  pray  and  cannot;  all  my 
faculties,  all  my  being,  turn  to  you.  I  would  give 
my  life  to  spare  you  a  single  pang.  I  would  have 
sacrificed  myself  in  this  world  and  the  next  to  save 
your  adored  child.  My  God,  what  will  become  of 
me  if  you  stay  away  much  longer,  when  I  have 
refrained  with  such  difficulty  from  sending  to  get 
news  of  you.  I  have  begged  Madame  Lanvin  to 

5  This  letter  is  written  after  the  catastrophe  at  Villequier  on 
the  4th  of  September,  1843,  in  which  the  eldest  daughter  and 
the  son-in-law  of  the  poet  perished. 

300 


To  Victor  Hugo 

come  to  me  this  afternoon  and  bring  her  husband, 
so  that  if,  as  I  fear,  I  have  not  seen  you  before 
then,  he  can  go  and  ask  for  news  of  you  under  the 
name  of  Monsieur  St.  Hilaire.  My  heart  aches, 
my  poor  treasure,  when  I  think  of  all  you  are  en- 
during. I  feel  I  cannot  much  longer  bear  not  see- 
ing you.  I  shall  commit  some  act  of  folly  if  you 
do  not  come  to  my  assistance.  I  exhausted  my 
strength  and  courage  on  that  awful  journey  and 
during  last  night  and  to-day.  I  have  none  left 
.now  to  endure  your  absence.  I  picture  to  myself 
your  wife  ill,  and  you  also;  in  fact,  I  am  like  a 
mad  thing  in  the  extremity  of  my  anxiety  and 
grief.  I  am  trying  to  occupy  myself  mechanically 
in  order  to  bring  nearer  the  moment  when  I  shall 
see  you,  but  my  efforts  only  make  every  minute  of 
waiting  seem  like  a  century,  and  all  the  fears 
my  heart  anticipates  become  frightful  realities 
against  which  I  cannot  struggle.  My  adored 
Victor,  whatever  be  your  despair,  mine  is  greater 
still,  for  I  feel  it  through  my  love,  which  makes 
it  a  hundred  times  worse  and  multiplies  it  beyond 
all  human  calculation.  Never  has  man  been  so 
idolized  by  woman  as  you  are  by  me,  and  the  poor 
angel  we  mourn  knows  it  and  sees  it  now,  as  God 
knows  and  sees  it,  and  she  will  forgive,  as  He 
does,  I  am  certain.  I  think  of  her,  poor  beloved, 

301 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

as  an  angel  of  Heaven.  To  her  I  shall  direct 
my  prayers,  that  she  may  give  you  the  strength 
and  courage  you  need.  To  her  also  I  shall  ad- 
dress myself  in  the  hour  of  death,  that  the  good 
God  may  take  me  with  all  of  you  into  His  Para- 
dise. 

My  adored  Victor,  it  is  more  than  five  o'clock 
and  you  have  not  yet  come.  What  shall  I  do! 
What  can  I  think,  or  rather  what  am  I  to  fear? 
We  are  in  a  terrible  cycle  of  misfortune,  and  God 
only  knows  when  it  will  end.  My  Victor,  before 
giving  way  to  despair,  think  of  mine,  remember 
that  I  love  you  more  than  life. 

JULIETTE. 

5.45  p.  m.,  Sunday,  October  8th,  1843. 

1  HAVE  been  working  all  the  morning,  my  be- 
loved, or  rather  scribbling  on  paper — only  to 
please  you,  for  I  doubt  whether  my  labor  will  be 
of  any  use  to  you ;  still,  I  am  trying  hard,  and  if 
I  cannot  do  better,  I  am  doing  my  best.  I  cannot 
do  more.  I  am  trying  more  especially  to  forget 
no  detail,  which  makes  me  occasionally  note  down 
trivialities,  little  futile,  insignificant  things.  My 
search  among  our  memories  is  like  the  botanizing 
of  a  child  who  is  as  apt  to  collect  couch  grass  as 
the  more  useful  and  rarer  plants.  However,  I 

302 


To  Victor  Hugo 

am  doing  my  best,  and  better  still,  I  am  obeying 
you.  Would  you  believe  that,  although  I  have 
been  writing  the  whole  day,  I  have  not  yet  reached 
Auch.6  My  mind  and  pen  rather  resemble  the  fan- 
tastic equipage  we  drove  thither,  but  there  is  less 
risk  in  the  present  venture.  The  worst  that  can 
happen  is  that  we  should  tumble  promiscuously 
into  a  muck  heap  of  absurdities  and  nonsense 
which  leave  no  bruises,  whereas  we  risked  our 
necks  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  thirty- 
three  miles  between  Tarbes  and  Auch. 

I  should  love  to  see  you,  my  Toto.  The  day, 
though  filled  with  joyous  recollections  of  our 
journey,  has  seemed  long  and  sad  to  me.  Noth- 
ing can  take  the  place  of  one  of  your  embraces. 
The  remembrance  of  the  greatest  happiness  can- 
not weigh  against  one  glance  from  you.  I  real- 
ize it  more  to-day  than  ever  before ;  therefore,  do 
try  and  come,  my  beloved  Toto.  It  will  give  me 
courage  and  patience  to  get  through  the  evening. 
I  love  you  too  much,  you  see,  but  I  cannot  help  it ; 
it  is  no  fault  of  mine.  JULIETTE. 

7.75  p.  m.,  Sunday,  November,  1843. 
I  THINK  of  you,  my  beloved,  I  desire  you,  I 

6  This  is  an  allusion  to  a  journey  Juliette  and  Victor  Hugo 
had  just  made,  the  account  of  which  has  been  published  in 
Alpes  et  Pyrenees. 

303 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

love  you.  Ah  yes,  I  love  you,  my  adored  Toto, 
you  may  be  sure  of  it,  for  it  is  God's  truth.  My 
little  Claire  and  I  talk  of  you  and  nothing  but  you. 
We  love  you  and  bless  you.  The  poor  little  child 
will  not  be  with  me  much  longer,  and  I  can  al- 
ready see  her  poor  little  face  wrinkling  up  with 
sorrow ;  but  I  try  to  be  cheerful  and  to  remind  her 
of  the  fortnight's  holiday  which  will  soon  come. 
We  love  the  pictures  of  your  dear  little  Toto,  and 
his  pretty  home.  We  gaze  at  them  with  eager- 
ness and  affection,  we  are  all  eyes  and  heart.  At 
this  moment  Claire  is  reading  Ulric's  poems,7 
while  I  am  writing  to  my  beloved  Toto  with  a 
heart  full  of  gratitude  and  devotion.  May  the 
happiness  you  bestow  upon  me,  be  yours  also,  my 
love !  May  a  just  pride  sustain  you,  for  you  have 
saved  two  souls,  the  mother's  and  the  daughter's ! 
I  feel  ineffable  things  I  dare  not  express,  for  fear 
of  vulgarizing  them  by  the  mere  fact  of  putting 
them  into  words.  Do  not  delay  long  ere  you 
come,  my  darling  Toto.  If  you  knew  the  joy  and 
radiance  you  diffuse  in  this  house,  you  would  in- 
deed hasten  your  steps.  Alas,  I  am  foolish,  for 
have  you  not  children  of  your  own  whom  you  must 
also  make  glad !  I  am  envious  of  them,  but  not 
cruel  enough  to  deprive  them  of  their  bliss — only 

7  Probably  Ulrich  Guttinguer. 

304 

i 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  beg  of  them  to  hurry  with  their  enjoyment,  so 
that  my  turn  may  come. 

Did  you  give  Dede  the  sachet?  Did  Toto  take 
back  his  quince  jelly?  Meanwhile,  I  am  giving 
Suzanne  a  whole  evening  to  herself,  and  making 
my  little  rogue  read  Le  Musee  des  Families.  I 
should  love  to  give  you  a  good  kiss,  but  I  know 
you  will  not  come  for  it.  You  are  not  wise 
enough  to  do  so.  JULIETTE. 

11.15  a.  m.,  Monday,  July  22d,  1844. 

VJOOD  morning,  my  beloved,  my  sweet,  my  dar- 
ling little  Toto.  How  are  you?  Are  you  less 
sad  and  painfully  preoccupied  than  yesterday,  my 
adored  one  ?  Alas,  it  is  unlikely  .  .  .  your  grief 
and  sorrow  are  not  of  those  that  time  can  soften. 
You  have  the  painful  faculty  of  feeling  things  far 
more  acutely  than  do  other  men.  Genius  does 
not  only  pertain  to  the  brain,  it  belongs  above  all 
to  the  heart.  My  poor  dear  one,  I  love  you;  I 
suffer  when  you  suffer ;  be  merciful  to  us  both,  I 
implore  you. 

My  little  Claire  went  away  this  morning.  She 
was  more  resigned  than  usual,  for  she  has  a  holi- 
day of  three  days  in  prospect,  beginning  next 
Saturday.  The  poor  little  thing  is  very  devoted 
to  us;  her  sole  happiness  is  to  be  with  us.  She 

305 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

complains  of  not  seeing  you  often  enough,  and  I 
back  her  up  in  that.  You  must  try  to  give  us  at 
least  one  evening  out  of  the  three  she  will  spend 
at  home.  Verily  I  am  not  very  cheerful  company 
for  the  poor  child  when  I  am  alone  with  her.  I 
am  so  absorbed  in  my  love  that  sometimes  I  do 
not  speak  to  her  twice  in  the  day,  however  much 
I  try  to  bring  myself  to  do  so. 

I  have  copied  Mery's  verses,  because  I  do  not 
wish  to  deprive  Mademoiselle  Dede  of  his  auto- 
graph. I  can  understand  her  setting  store  by  it, 
poor  darling,  so  I  shall  make  a  point  of  returning 
it  to  her.  Only  (and  it  is  you  I  am  addressing 
now),  you  must  give  me  just  as  many  as  you  give 
her.  You  must  not  lose  your  good  habits,  my 
darling,  for  I  am  sure  it  would  bring  us  bad  luck. 
Therefore  you  must  bring  me  all  your  letters  as 
you  used  to  do.  I  promise  to  divide  them  con- 
scientiously with  dear  little  Dede,  and  you  know 
quite  well  that  I  am  a  woman  of  my  word.  I 
adore  you.  JULIETTE. 

4-45  p.  m.,  Thursday,  October  2 oth,  1844. 

I  HAVE  sent  to  Barbedienne,  my  adored  one, 
but  Suzanne  has  not  returned  yet.  I  am  writing 
to  you  meanwhile  to  make  the  time  hang  less 
heavy.  I  hope  to  goodness  I  may  be  able  to  pro- 

306 


To  Victor  Hugo 

cure  that  lovely  medal.8  Since  I  have  glimpsed 
the  chance  of  possessing  it,  I  feel  my  disappoint- 
ment would  be  greater  than  I  could  bear,  if  I 
failed  to  get  it.  Good  God,  how  slowly  that  girl 
walks !  Fancy  having  to  trust  to  legs  like  those 
on  such  an  occasion!  I  could  have  gone  there 
and  back  ten  times,  since  she  went.  May  the 
devil  fly  away  with  her,  or  rather,  precipitate  her 
right  into  the  middle  of  my  room  with  his  cloven 
foot,  providing  only  that  she  brings  the  longed- 
for  medal ! 

Here  she  is!  Ah,  Victor,  do  not  be  angry! 
Victor,  I  am  at  your  feet — Victor,  I  will  be  rea- 
sonable for  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  my  life  if  only 
you  will  let  me  add  fifteen  francs  to  the  sum  you 
promised  me.  Oh,  Victor,  I  have  not  time  to  wait 
for  your  answer  and  yet  I  fear  to  annoy  you. 
Ah,  no,  you  are  too  kind  to  be  angry  with  your 
poor  Juju  who  loves  you  with  such  absolute,  ad- 
miring, devoted  love !  You  will  look  at  her  with 
your  gentle,  ineffable  smile,  and  say  I  was  right 
— surely,  yes,  you  will.  Three  cheers  for  Toto! 
Juju  is  a  clever  woman  ...  at  heart.  Yes,  it  is 
quite  true  and  I  am  the  happiest  of  women. 

JULIETTE. 

8  A  bronze  medal  representing  Victor  Hugo,  after  the  medal- 
lion by  David  d' Angers. 

307 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

p.jo  a.  m.f  Tuesday,  September,  1845. 

1  HAVE  just  been  gardening,  beloved.  I  am 
soaked  with  dew  and  all  muddy,  but  I  have  spent 
three  hours  thinking  of  you  without  any  bitter- 
ness. My  eyes  were  as  moist  as  my  flowers,  but 
I  was  not  weeping.  While  I  busied  myself  with 
the  garden,  I  reviewed  in  thought  the  lovely 
flowers  of  my  past  happiness.  I  saw  them  again 
fresh  and  blooming  as  the  first  day,  and  I  felt 
close  to  you,  separated  only  by  a  breath.  As  long 
as  the  illusion  lasted  I  was  almost  happy.  I 
should  have  liked  to  pluck  my  soul  and  send  it  to 
you  as  a  nosegay.  Perhaps  what  I  am  saying  is 
silly,  yet  it  is  the  sort  of  nonsense  that  can  only 
issue  direct  from  the  tenderest,  most  passionate 
heart  that  ever  lived.  For  nearly  thirteen  years 
past,  I  have  never  once  written  to  you  without 
feeling  my  hand  tremble  and  my  eyes  fill.  When 
I  speak  of  you,  no  matter  to  whom,  my  heart 
swells  as  if  it  would  burst  through  my  lips. 
When  I  am  dead,  I  am  certain  that  the  imprint 
of  my  love  will  be  found  on  my  heart.  It  is  im- 
possible to  worship  as  I  do  without  leaving  some 
visible  trace  behind  when  life  is  over. 

My  beloved  Victor,  let  your  thoughts  dwell  with 
me,  so  that  my  day  may  seem  shorter  and  less 
dreary;  and  do  try  to  surprise  me  by  coming  to- 

308 


To  Victor  Hugo 

night.     Oh,  how  happy  I  shall  be  if  you  do  that ! 
Meanwhile,  I  love  you  more  than  I  can  say. 

JULIETTE. 

8  a.  in.,  Saturday,  September  2fth,  184.5. 
(jrOOD  morning,  my  beloved,  my  soul,  my  life, 
my  adored  Victor.  How  are  you?  I  hope  yes- 
terday did  not  tire  you  too  much.  I  forgot  until 
you  reminded  me  that  you  have  been  forbidden  to 
walk  much,  but  I  do  trust  it  did  you  no  harm ;  did 
it,  Victor  darling  ?  As  for  me  I  felt  no  fatigue,  I 
seemed  to  have  wings.  I  should  have  liked  to 
place  my  feet  on  all  the  paths  we  traversed  to- 
gether eleven  years  ago,  to  kiss  the  very  stones  of 
the  roads  and  the  leaves  on  the  trees,  and  to  pick 
all  the  flowers  in  the  woods,  so  keenly  did  I 
fancy  they  were  the  very  same  that  watched  us 
pass  together  all  those  years  ago.  I  gazed  at  you, 
my  adored  Victor,  and  in  my  eyes  you  were  as 
young  and  handsome,  nay  handsomer  even,  than 
eleven  years  ago.  I  looked  into  my  heart  and 
found  it  full  of  the  same  ecstasy  and  adoration 
that  animated  it  the  first  day  I  loved  you.  Noth- 
ing was  changed  in  us  or  about  us.  The  same 
ardent,  devoted,  sad  and  sweet  affection  in  our 
hearts,  the  same  autumn  sun  and  sky  above  our 
heads,  the  same  picture  in  the  same  frame ;  noth- 

309 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ing  had  changed  in  eleven  years.  I  would  have 
given  a  decade  of  my  life  to  stand  alone  for  ten 
minutes  in  that  house  that  has  sheltered  our 
memories  for  so  long.  I  should  like  to  have  car- 
ried away  ashes  from  the  fireplace,  dust  from  the 
floors.  I  should  have  liked  to  pray  and  weep, 
where  once  I  prayed  and  wept,  to  have  died  of 
love  on  the  spot  where  once  I  accepted  your  soul 
in  a  kiss.  I  had  to  exercise  superhuman  self- 
control  not  to  perpetrate  some  act  of  folly  in  the 
presence  of  that  girl  who  showed  us  so  indiffer- 
ently over  a  house  I  could  have  purchased  at  the 
price  of  half  the  rest  of  my  life.  Fortunately, 
thanks  to  her  profound  ignorance  of  our  identity, 
she  noticed  nothing,  and  we  were  each  able  to 
bring  away  a  tiny  relic  of  our  former  happiness. 
Mine  must  be  buried  with  me  when  I  die. 

Beloved,  did  you  work  late  last  night  ?  It  was 
very  imprudent  of  you  if  you  did,  after  the  fatigue 
iyou  underwent  during  the  day.  To-day,  you 
must  be  very  careful  and  not  walk  much.  I  shall 
be  extremely  stern  with  you.  My  antiquarian 
propensities  shall  not  make  me  forget  like  yester- 
day that  you  are  still  convalescent  and  must 
hardly  walk  at  all.  And  you  will  obey  me,  be- 
cause little  Totos  must  always  obey  little  Jujus, 
as  you  know. 

310 

\ 


To  Victor  Hugo 

Kiss  me,  my  adored  Victor,  and  may  God  bles? 
you  for  all  the  happiness  you  give  me. 

JULIETTE 

p  p.  m.,  Saturday,  May  2d,  1846. 

1  CANNOT  nerve  myself  to  the  realization 
that  I  shall  not  see  you  this  evening,  my  sweet 
adored  beloved;  yet  it  is  all  too  true.  This  is 
the  first  time  in  fourteen  years  that  I  have  not 
slept  in  a  room  belonging  to  you.9  Consequently 
I  am  feeling  quite  forlorn.  Everything  conspires 
to  harrow  me.  Just  now  when  I  left  you  I  longed 
for  death,  and  the  tears  I  drove  from  my  eyes 
trickled  inwardly  to  my  sad  heart.  If  this  anx- 
iety about  my  child,  and  the  separation  from  you 
are  to  last  long,  I  do  not  think  I  shall  have 
strength  to  endure  them.  I  am  vexed  and  dis- 
gusted at  the  tone  of  those  about  me.  I  am 
shamed  and  indignant  at  my  inability  to  remove 
myself  from  it,  ho\vever  I  may  try;  then  when  I 
remember  you,  so  generous,  so  loyal,  so  noble,  so 
kind  and  indulgent,  my  bitterness  evaporates  and 
nothing  remains  in  my  heart  but  admiration, 
gratitude,  and  love  for  your  divine  and  fascinat- 
ing self. 

9  This  letter  was  written  at  Auteuil  where  Juliette  was  living, 
with  her  dying  daughter,  in  a  house  belonging  to  the  sculptor, 
Pradier.  Victor  Hugo  visited  her  there  nearly  every  day. 

3" 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

When  I  got  back,  I  found  my  child  in  a  raging 
fever.  I  gave  her  fresh  compresses  and  now  she 
is  sleeping.  God  grant  she  may  do  so  all  night, 
and  that  the  change  of  ideas  and  surroundings 
and  air  may  have  a  good  effect  upon  her  health. 
I  shall  in  that  case  have  less  cause  to  grudge  the 
sacrifices  I  am  voluntarily  making  to  that  end. 
Meanwhile,  I  am  a  prey  to  fearful  anxiety  and  am 
suffering  the  uttermost  from  the  absence  of  what 
I  love  best  in  this  world,  above  life,  above  duty, 
above  everything.  Good  night,  beloved.  Think 
of  me.  Sleep  well,  and  love  me. 

JULIETTE. 

5.45  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  May  2d,  184.6. 

1  LOVE  you,  my  Victor.  Between  every  letter 
of  those  five  sweet  words  there  lurk  depths  of 
maternal  anguish  and  sorrow.  Gloomy  reflec- 
tions mingle  with  my  tenderest  thoughts.  My 
life  at  this  moment  is  divided  between  my  poor 
little  daughter  whom  I  already  mourn  in  antici- 
pation (for  I  feel  that  these  few  days  of  illness  are 
but  snatched  from  Eternity),  and  my  adoration 
for  you,  from  which  no  preoccupation,  even  of  the 
most  terrible  and  sinister  character,  can  long  dis- 
tract me.  On  the  contrary,  my  love  is  all  the 

312 


To  Victor  Hugo 

greater  for  the  trials  and  sufferings  God  sends  me. 
I  love  you  selflessly,  as  if  I  myself  were  already 
over  the  border.  My  heart  is  racked,  yet  I  adore 
you. 

Claire's  condition  is  the  same  as  yesterday; 
only  the  weakness,  which,  but  for  the  doctor's 
plain  warning  I  might  have  attributed  to  the  heat, 
has  increased.  The  night  was  not  very  bad ;  the 
poor  little  thing  suffers  hardly  at  all.  She  seems 
to  have  no  firmer  hold  on  life  than  life  has  upon 
her.  Apathy  and  profound  indifference  charac- 
terize her  illness.  Only  her  father  has  the  power 
to  rouse  her  for  the  few  moments  he  is  with  her. 
He  came  this  morning  and  happened  to  meet  the 
doctor,10  who,  it  appears,  is  not  quite  so  despond- 
ent as  Monsieur  Triger ; u  but  what  does  that 
prove? 

I  have  not  been  able  to  get  her  up  at  all  to-day. 
She  lay  in  bed  in  a  state  of  profuse  and  constant 
perspiration.  The  various  tonics  she  takes  fail 
to  produce  any  effect  whatever.  The  exhaustion 
increases  hour  by  hour,  which  means  that  death 
is  coming  nearer.  I  pray,  but  I  obtain  neither 
solace  nor  confidence.  The  good  God  disdains 

10  The  doctor  chosen  by  Pradier. 

11  Juliette's  own  doctor. 

3*3 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

my  prayers  and  rejects  them,  I  know — yet  I  love 
and  admire  Him  in  His  beneficent,  lofty,  noble, 
generous  and  beautiful  works. 

I  love  Him  as  His  saints  and  angels  in  Heaven 
love  Him.  What  more  can  I  do  to  find  favor  in 
His  eyes  ?  He  deprived  me  of  my  mother  at  my 
birth;  now  He  is  about  to  snatch  my  child  from 
me.  Is  that  His  justice?  I  do  not  want  to  blas- 
pheme, but  I  am  very  miserable  and  if  I  do  not 
see  you,  if  you  cannot  come  to-day,  I  do  not  know 
what  will  become  of  me.  Despair  fills  my  soul, 
but  I  love  you.  God  may  crush  my  heart  if  He 
so  wills,  but  the  last  breath  from  it  shall  be  a  cry 
of  love  for  you,  my  sublime  beloved. 

JULIETTE. 

p  a.  m.,  April  2pth,  1847. 

ClOOD  morning,  my  adored  Victor.  My 
thoughts  and  soul  and  heart  go  out  to  you  in  this 
greeting.  I  hope  I  shall  see  you  before  you  go 
to  the  rehearsal,  for  if  I  do  not,  I  shall  have  to 
wait  till  this  evening,  which  would  increase  my 
depression.  From  now  until  the  anniversary  of 
the  terrible  day  on  which  I  lost  my  poor  child, 
every  hour  and  minute  is  punctuated  by  the  recol- 
lection of  the  sufferings  of  that  poor  little  thing 
and  of  the  anguish  I  went  through.  They  are 


To  Victor  Hugo 

painful  memories,  impossible  to  exclude  from  my 
thoughts.  Last  night  while  I  lay  sleepless  I 
seemed  to  hear  her,  and  in  my  dreams  I  saw  her 
again  as  she  looked  at  the  close  of  her  illness.  I 
am  worn  out  this  morning.  All  the  pangs  and 
fatigues  of  the  last  moments  of  her  life  weigh 
down  my  heart  and  limbs.  It  may  be  that  I  shall 
find  comfort  in  prayer,  and  I  shall  pray  better  by 
her  side,  buoyed  up  by  the  hope  that  she  will  hear 
me  and  obtain  for  me  resignation  enough  to  bear 
her  absence  without  murmur  or  bitterness.  It 
was  you  who  gave  me  the  courage  to  live.  All 
that  a  heart  can  gain  from  consolation,  I  found  in 
your  love;  but  there  is  a  grief  surpassing  all 
others  and  beyond  human  aid,  for  which  only  God 
can  provide,  and  to  Him  I  must  address  myself 
to-day.  JULIETTE. 


8  a.  m.,  Thursday,  May  6th, 

CjOOD  morning,  my  all,  my  greatly  loved  Toto. 
How  are  you  this  morning?  Did  you  gather 
in  a  good  harvest  of  glances,  smiles  and  flat- 
tery yesterday  from  the  women  you  met  ?  Were 
you  the  cause  of  many  incipient  passions,  or 
were  you  yourself  ensnared  by  those  females, 
like  any  beardless  student  or  bald-headed  peer  of 
the  realm?  Tell  me,  how  are  you  after  your 

3*5 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

evening  at  Court?  For  my  part,  I  have  a  very 
sore  throat  and  am  feeling  fearfully  cross.  I 
have  a  longing  to  scratch  which  I  should  love  to 
vent  upon  the  face  of  some  woman  or  even  upon 
yours — or  better  still,  upon  both.  I  am  sick  of 
playing  the  gentle,  sheep-like  woman.  I  intend 
to  become  as  fierce  as  a  hyena,  and  to  make  your 
life  and  everything  depending  upon  it  a  burden 
to  you.  I  mean  to  make  a  terrible  example  of 
you  so  that  people  shall  say  as  you  pass  by,  that 
it  is  a  woman  who  has  been  outraged,  but  a  Juju 
who  has  avenged  herself!  Meanwhile,  to  begin 
with,  I  am  going  to  wrest  from  you  somehow,  two 
silk  dresses,  a  lovely  hat,  two  pairs  of  smart  shoes, 
and  if  you  do  not  confess  your  crime,  I  will  punish 
you  to  the  tune  of  torrents  of  tea-gowns,  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  and  silk  stockings.  I  am  capable 
of  anything  if  you  drive  me  too  far. 

JULIETTE. 

12.45  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  June  6th,  1848. 

1  HE  more  I  think  of  all  that  is  going  on  in 
Paris  at  this  moment,  my  beloved,  the  less  do  I 
desire  the  success  of  your  election.12  We  must 
let  this  frenzy  of  the  populace  which  knows  not 

12  Victor  Hugo  was  then  a  candidate  for  the  Assemblee  Na- 
tionale. 

316 


To  Victor  Hugo 

what  it  wants  and  is  in  no  condition  to  distin- 
guish the  true  from  the  false,  or  evil  from  good, 
exhaust  itself  first.  When  it  is  worn  cut  with 
turning  in  its  own  vicious  circle  of  disorder,  vio- 
lence, and  misery,  it  will  come  to  heel  and  humbly 
crave  the  assistance  of  incorruptible,  strong,  sane 
politicians,  among  whom  you  are  the  most  incor- 
ruptible, the  strongest,  and  the  sanest.  I  say  this 
in  the  simplicity  of  my  heart,  without  any  preten- 
sion to  be  other  than  a  mere  woman  who  loves 
you  above  all  things  and  trembles  lest  you  should 
enter  upon  some  undertaking  that  might  jeop- 
ardize your  life  without  saving  your  country. 
Therefore  I  pray  that  this  candidature  to  which 
you  have  been  driven  in  self-sacrifice  and  gen- 
erosity may  not  succeed.  If  I  am  unpatriotic,  I 
accept  the  blame,  but  I  do  think  that  in  this  in- 
stance my  feeling  is  in  accord  with  the  best  in- 
terests of  France.  It  would  not  be  the  first  time 
that  the  heart  has  proved  cleverer  than  the  brain. 
It  has  happened  too  often  in  my  case  for  me  to 
marvel.  Pending  our  next  meeting  I  kiss  you 
from  my  soul,  I  adore  you  with  all  my  strength. 

JULIETTE. 

p  a.  m.,  Monday,  July  yth,  1849. 
I  AM  hurrying  my  love,  for  I  wish  to  be  at  the 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

door  of  the  Assemblee  at  noon  precisely,  in  order 
to  secure  a  good  place.13  I  wish  the  great  mo- 
ment had  arrived,  for  I  am  already  feeling  stage- 
fright,  and  it  will  go  on  increasing  until  I  see  you 
descend  from  the  tribune.  I  thought  this  morn- 
ing that  I  could  not  experience  any  other  sensa- 
tion than  happiness  at  seeing  you,  but  now  I  begin 
to  understand  what  fear  is.  Yet  when  I  say  fear, 
I  am  hardly  correct ;  for  I  mean  something  more 
indefinite,  which  is  rather  the  suspense  before  a 
great  joy,  than  the  stupid  emotion  of  cowardice 
or  funk.  In  any  case,  I  am  very  agitated ;  I  wan- 
der aimlessly  about  the  house,  and  feel  as  if  the 
longed-for  moment  would  never  arrive.  My 
blessed  love,  my  great  Victor,  my  sublime  beloved, 
I  kiss  in  spirit  your  noble  forehead  with  its  gen- 
erous thoughts,  your  beautiful  eyes  so  gentle  and 
powerful,  your  fascinating  mouth,  which  has  the 
happiness  of  speaking  all  your  divine  thoughts. 
I  prostrate  myself  before  the  most  beautiful  and 
most  sublime  thing  in  the  whole  world,  namely, 
your  dear  little  person  and  your  profound  genius. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  think  of  me  before  your 
speech,  adored  one,  but  afterwards  I  entreat  you 

13  Victor  Hugo  was  to  make  a  speech  that  day  on  La  Misere. 
vide  Actes  et  Paroles,  Avant  I'Exil. 

318 


To  Victor  Hugo 

to  spare  me  one  glance  to  complete  my  happiness. 

JULIETTE. 

12.30,  Wednesday,  February  6th,  1850. 

I  HINK  of  me,  my  adored  one,  and  do  not  per- 
mit yourself  to  be  ensnared  by  the  mercenary 
blandishments  of  that  woman.14  I  am  in  the 
throes  of  a  jealousy  so  terrible,  that  the  hardest 
heart  would  be  moved  to  pity,  and  the  most  in- 
trepid would  fear  me;  for  I  am  suffering  and  I 
am  capable  of  anything,  to  avenge  a  despicable 
treachery.  Alas,  my  poor  adored  one,  this  is  nbt 
what  I  should  like  to  say,  or  what  I  ought  to  say. 
I  realize  that  threats  are  powerless  to  hold  you. 
I  believe  if  the  statistics  of  infidelity  could  be 
drawn  up  like  those  of  crime,  it  would  be  shown 
that  the  severe  penalties  of  the  code  of  love  are 
more  apt  to  drive  lovers  into  breaches  of  its  laws 
than  to  bind  them  together.  I  am  sure  of  it,  and 
I  wish  I  could  convert  my  natural  ferocity  into 
bland  indifference,  in  order  to  remove  from  you 
the  stimulant  of  a  forbidden  Rachel;  but  it  is  no 
good — I  shall  never  manage  it.  Therefore,  I  im- 

14  Mile.  Rachel.  Arsene  Houssaye,  who  had  recently  been  ap- 
pointed Director  of  the  Comedie  Franchise,  had  just  introduced 
Victor  Hugo  to  the  great  tragedian. 

319 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

plore  you  for  the  sake  of  your  personal  safety  and 
mine  to  be  honorable  and  prudent  in  your  dra- 
matic relations  with  that  dangerous  and  perfidious 
Jewess.  Try  not  to  prolong  your  literary  and 
theatrical  consultation  beyond  the  strictly  neces- 
sary limits,  and  to  come  and  fetch  me  before  three 
o'clock. 

I  should  be  so  grateful  to  you,  my  adored  little 
man,  for  you  would  thus  abridge  the  moments  of 
my  torment.  Meanwhile  I  am  very  unhappy  and 
anxious  and  worried.  I  try  to  hearten  myself  up 
by  remembering  the  last  promises  you  made  me. 
When  do  you  intend  to  keep  them,  I  wonder? 
God  knows !  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  m.,  Saturday,  April  6th,  1850. 

vJOOD  morning,  my  adored  one,  my  sublime 
beloved.  How  are  you?  Did  you  have  a  better 
night,  or  did  fatigue  and  excitement  prevent  you 
from  sleeping?  When  I  think  of  the  admirable 
speech,  so  religious  in  character,  so  noble,  self- 
abnegating  and  conciliating,  that  you  delivered 
yesterday  15  at  the  risk  of  your  health,  and  then 
reflect  upon  the  senseless  uproar  and  idiotic  and 
violent  interruptions  it  provoked,  I  feel  only 

15  A   speech   on   deportation.    Vide   Actes   et  paroles,   Avant 
I'Exil 

320 


To  Victor  Hugo 

hatred,  contempt,  and  disgust  for  political  life. 
It  is  revolting  that  a  man  like  you  should  be  the 
butt  of  the  irresponsibility  of  all  parties.  It  is 
hateful,  abominable,  infamous,  that  scoundrels 
without  talent,  wit  or  feeling  should  dare  argue 
with  you  and  should  be  accorded  an  attentive 
hearing  where  you  only  meet  with  insults. 
Really,  my  treasure,  the  more  I  see  of  political 
life,  the  more  I  regret  the  time  when  you  were 
simply  the  poet  Victor  Hugo,  my  sublime  love, 
my  radiant  lover.  I  revere  your  courage  and  de- 
votion, but  I  am  hurt  in  my  tenderest  feelings 
when  I  see  you  delivered  over  to  the  beasts  of 
an  arena  a  thousand  times  more  indiscriminating 
than  that  of  ancient  Rome.  Therefore,  my  be- 
loved Victor,  I  have  conceived  a  loathing,  not 
only  for  your  antagonists,  but  also  for  the  form 
of  government  which  imposes  this  Sisyphus  life 
upon  you.  If  I  had  the  power  to  change  it,  I  can 
assure  you  I  should  not  hesitate,  even  if  I  had  to 
deprive  you  for  ever  of  your  rights  of  citizenship. 
Unfortunately  I  can  do  nothing  beyond  cordially 
detesting  those  who  obstruct  your  work.  I  pity 
you,  bless  you,  admire  you,  and  love  you  with  all 
my  soul.  JULIETTE. 


321 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

3  p.  m.,  Saturday,  June  2pth,  16*50. 

1  HAVE  just  watched  you  go  with  inexpressible 
sadness,  my  sweet  and  beautiful  beloved.  With 
you  have  departed  the  sunshine,  the  flowers,  the 
pleasant  thoughts,  the  hopes  that  link  past  happi- 
ness with  future  bliss.  Nought  remains  to  me 
but  my  love,  a  poor  hermit  whose  regrets  have 
been  her  sole  bed-fellows  this  long  time.  When 
you  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  something 
luminous,  soft,  and  sweet,  seemed  to  die  within 
me.  From  that  moment  I  have  been  as  depressed 
and  desolate  as  if  a  great  misfortune  had  befallen 
me.  Alas,  it  is  in  fact  the  misfortune  that  weighs 
down  my  whole  life,  namely,  your  absence. 
Since  politics  have  monopolized  your  time,  happi- 
ness has  eluded  my  grasp.  Will  it  ever  return? 
I  doubt  it,  hence  my  despair.  I  am  greatly  to  be 
commiserated,  my  beloved,  in  that  I  have  con- 
stituted your  eyes  my  illumination,  your  smile  my 
joy,  your  words  my  bliss,  your  love  my  life — so 
that  when  you  are  away,  all  these  are  simultane- 
ously snatched  from  me.  I  am  not  certain  of  see- 
ing you  to-night,  still  less  to-morrow.  What  is 
to  become  of  me?  What  am  I  to  do  with  this 
poor  body  bereft  of  its  soul  when  you  are  not  by? 
Tell  me  if  you  can.  Explain  if  you  dare.  Mean- 
while, I  adore  you.  JULIETTE. 

322 


To  Victor  Hugo 

10  p.  m.f  Monday,  July  ?th,  1851. 

WHAT  I  had  foreseen  has  happened,  my  be- 
loved, even  sooner  and  more  painfully  than  I  had 
feared.  Does  this  fresh  crisis  foreshadow  my 
speedy  recovery?  I  dare  not  hope  it,  for  I  feel 
that  my  disease  is  incurable.  I  tell  you  so  in  the 
frankness  of  my  despair.  I  neither  can  nor  will 
deceive  you,  beloved,  and  my  anxiety,  far  from 
diminishing,  augments  with  every  minute.  I  am 
suffering  the  torments  of  the  most  humiliating 
and  poignant  jealousy.  I  know  that  for  seven 
years  you  have  adored  a  woman  you  think  beauti- 
ful, witty  and  accomplished.16  I  know  that  but 
for  her  sudden  treachery,17  she  would  still  be  your 
preferred  mistress.  I  know  that  you  introduced 
her  into  your  family-circle,  that  she  is  of  your 
world,  that  you  can  meet  her  at  any  moment,  that 
you  promised  her  you  would  continue  your  in- 
timacy with  her  at  all  events  outwardly.  All  this 
I  know — yet  you  expect  me  to  feel  my  own  posi- 
tion secure !  Surely  I  should  need  to  be  idiotic 
or  insane  to  do  that.  Alas,  I  happen  to  be  instead 
a  very  clear-sighted,  miserable  woman. 

Midnight. 
Beloved,  thanks  to  you  and  thanks  to  your  ten- 

16  Madame  Biard. 

17  Madame  Biard  had  sent  Juliette  a  packet  of  Victor  Hugo's 
letters  to  her. 

323 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

der  perseverance  and  inexhaustible  kindness,  I 
am  once  more,  and  this  time  for  ever  I  hope,  the 
sensible,  sanguine,  happy  Juju  of  the  good  old 
days.  But  if  I  am  to  be  quite  as  I  was  then,  you 
must  suffer  no  longer,  my  little  man — you  must 
be  as  strong  as  three  Turks,  and  love  me  as  much 
as  a  hundred  Swiss-guards.  On  those  conditions 
I  shall  be  happy!  happy!!  happy!!!,  but  pending 
that  great  day,  try  to  sleep  well  to-night,  not  to 
be  unwell  to-morrow,  and  to  forgive  me  for  loving 
you  too  much.  JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.}  Saturday,  July  26th,  1851. 

1  TRUST  you,  my  beloved,  and  believe  every- 
thing you  say.  I  yield  my  soul  to  the  hopes  of 
happiness  you  have  held  out  to  me.  My  heart  is 
full  of  love  and  security.  I  love  you,  I  am  happy, 
I  am  at  peace,  I  forget  all  I  have  suffered.  I  re- 
member only  the  tender,  loyal,  encouraging  words 
you  uttered  just  now.  Felicity  has  succeeded 
despair — I  quit  hell  and  enter  paradise.  I  love 
you  and  you  love  me,  nothing  can  be  sad  any  more. 
You  will  see  how  I  shall  resume  my  interest  in 
life,  how  I  shall  smile,  how  happy  I  shall  be,  and 
what  confidence  I  shall  have  in  you.  I  do  not 
know  whether  we  shall  be  able  to  carry  out  all  the 
adorable  plans  you  sketched  just  now,  but  I  ex- 

324 


To  Victor  Hugo 

perienced  great  happiness  in  anticipation  while 
I  watched  you  making  them  and  knew  myself  so 
closely  associated  with  them.  I  felt  as  if  all  my 
past  sorrows  were  transfigured  into  happiness  to 
come.  I  listened,  and  my  heart  was  filled  with 
joy.  Thank  you,  my  Victor,  thank  you,  my  be- 
loved. Do  .not  be  anxious  about  me  any  more; 
now  that  you  love  me  I  shall  get  well.  I  shall  be 
happy  again,  you  will  see.  I  am  beginning  al- 
ready, so  as  to  lose  no  time  in  rewarding  you  for 
your  goodness  and  gentleness  and  patience.  I  am 
awaiting  you  with  my  sweetest  smiles,  my  tender- 
est  caresses.  JULIETTE. 

12.45  p.  m.,  Monday,  July  28th,  1851. 
1  HIS  is  the  hour  I  begin  to  expect  you,  my  Vic- 
tor ;  each  second  that  lags  past  with  the  slowness 
of  eternity  crushes  my  hopes  as  quickly  as  I  con- 
ceive them.  What  is  to  become  of  me  all  this 
wretched  day  if  I  may  not  see  you.  Oh,  I  thought 
myself  stronger,  braver,  more  resigned;  but  now 
I  see  I  have  used  up  all  my  strength  in  the  hor- 
rible struggle  I  have  been  going  through  this  last 
month.  What  will  happen  to  me,  shut  up  here,  all 
alone  with  that  terrible  anniversary,  the  28th 
June,  1851?  How  can  I  evade  its  ghastly  grip, 
how  keep  myself  from  suicide,  from  the  desperate 

325 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

hankering  after  death?  Oh,  God,  how  I  suffer! 
I  implore  you,  do  not  leave  me  alone  here  to- 
d.  .  .  ,18 

Midnight. 

This  letter,  which  was  begun  in  delirium  and 
mad  jealousy,  has  ended,  thanks  to  you  my  in- 
effable beloved,  in  the  happy  calm  of  confidence 
and  the  sacred  joy  of  love  shared.  May  you  be 
blest,  my  Victor,  as  much  as  you  are  respected, 
venerated,  adored,  and  admired  by  me — then  you 
will  have  nothing  further  to  desire  in  this  world 
or  the  next.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  m.,  Saturday,  August  2d.  1851. 
CiOOD  morning,  man  that  I  love;  good  morn- 
ing, with  all  my  joy  and  smiles  and  soul  and 
happiness  and  love,  if  you  had  a  good  night  and 
are  well.  I  felt  sure  your  dear  Charles'  depres- 
sion could  not  stand  against  an  hour  of  your  gen- 
tle and  persuasive  philosophy.  You  have  the 
marvelous  art  of  extracting  good  from  evil  and 
consolation  from  despair,  and  there  is  irresistible 
magic  in  your  eyes  and  smile ;  your  every  word 
is  full  of  seduction.  I,  who  only  linger  in  this 
life  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  every  day,  should 

18  The  word  "to-day"  is  left  unfinished  in  the  original,  thus : 
oujo.  .  .  . 

326 


To  Victor  Hugo 

know  something  of  that.  What  the  joys  of 
eternity  in  paradise  may  be  I  cannot  tell,  but  I 
would  sacrifice  them  all  for  one  minute  of  your 
true  love.  My  Victor,  my  Victor,  I  love  you. 
You  will  see  how  sensible  I  am  going  to  be  and 
how  I  shall  give  way  to  all  the  exigencies  of  your 
work  and  the  consideration  required  by  your  posi- 
tion as  a  political  personage.  I  am  ready,  my 
Victor;  dispose  of  me  how  you  will;  whether 
happy  or  unhappy,  I  shall  bless  you.  I  trust  the 
bad  atmosphere  you  were  compelled  to  breathe  for 
several  hours  yesterday  did  not  injure  your  throat. 
I  am  eagerly  awaiting  this  afternoon  to  learn  this, 
and  to  see  you.  Until  then,  I  love  you,  I  love  you, 
I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

Friday  morning,  September  I2th,  1851. 

CrOOD  morning  and  forgive  me  my  poor  sweet 
beloved,  for  nothing  was  further  from  my 
thoughts  than  to  torment  you  as  I  involuntarily 
did  yesterday.  My  foolishness  does  not  include 
malice,  and  I  respect  you  even  in  my  most  violent 
bouts  of  despair.  Besides,  you  had  just  been  tell- 
ing me  something  that  ought  to  increase  my  cling- 
ing to  life,  namely,  my  responsibility  for  your 
tranquillity,  your  fortune,  your  genius  and  exist- 
ence. Without  accepting  in  its  entirety  this  ex- 

327 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

aggerated  view  of  my  own  importance  in  the 
grave  situation  you  find  yourself  in,  my  perse- 
cuted love,  I  have  grasped  that  I  should  be  un- 
worthy of  the  position,  were  I  to  allow  my  troubles 
to  weigh  in  the  balance,  against  your  safety. 
Therefore,  my  Victor,  you  have  nothing  to  fear 
from  me,  so  long  as  my  poor  brain  retains  a  glim- 
mer of  reason,  and  my  wretched  heart  a  scrap  of 
confidence  in  your  loyalty. 

I  spent  part  of  the  night  reading  over  your  old 
letters,  especially  those  of  May,  1844,™  and  I  shed 
more  tears  over  your  desecrated  tenderness  and 
sullied  affection  than  you  can  have  squandered 
kisses  upon  that  woman  during  the  seven  years 
of  your  treachery  to  me.  If  life  could  escape 
through  the  eyes,  my  sufferings  would  long  ere 
this  be  terminated ;  but  like  sorrow,  the  soul  is  not 
so  quickly  exhausted,  though  God  only  knows 
where  it  finds  sustenance.  As  for  me,  my  adored 
one,  I  love  you  without  being  able  either  to  live 
or  to  be  healed.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  incurabil- 
ity, and  I  gratefully  compassionate  the  super- 
human efforts  you  make  to  restore  me  to  cour- 
age. 

JULIETTE. 

19  The    period    when    Victor    Hugo's    intrigue    with    Madame 
Biard  began. 

328 


To  Victor  Hugo 

10.45  p.  m.,  Thursday,  October  2$d, 

Y  OU  know,  my  dear  little  man,  that  I  need  no 
encouragement  to  give  way  to  epistolary  intem- 
perance. If  I  only  have  time,  I  am  always  ready 
to  fling  myself  unrestrainedly  into  a  sea  of  lucu- 
brations without  sense  or  end.  But  this  time  I 
have  more  than  a  mere  pretext  for  giving  rein  to 
my  harmless  mania:  I  have  two  days  full  of  the 
most  radiant  joy  and  happiness  that  could  befall 
a  woman  who  lives  only  by  and  for  her  love. 
Whole  volumes  would  not  suffice  to  enumerate  and 
describe  them,  and  even  your  sublime  genius 
would  not  be  too  great  to  express  the  splendid 
poetry  of  them.  I  felt  as  if  a  little  winged  soul 
sprang  from  each  one  of  our  embraces  and  flew 
heavenward  with  cries  of  jubilation  and  joy. 
Your  love  penetrated  my  soul  and  warmed  it,  as 
the  rays  of  the  sun  pierce  through  the  fogs  and 
melancholy  of  autumn  and  reach  the  earth  to  con- 
sole it  and  lay  the  blessed  seed  of  hope  within  her 
womb.  I  rejoiced  in  the  bliss  watered  by  tears 
that  precedes  and  follows  love  and  sunshine  in 
that  season  of  life  and  nature.  Though  my  heart 
is  bestrewn  with  the  dead  leaves  of  past  illusions, 
I  feel  new  sap  rising  within  it  which  awaits  only 
your  vivifying  breath  to  bring  forth  the  flowers 
and  fruits  of  love. 

329 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

My  adored  Victor,  my  soul  overflows  with  the 
accumulated  joys  of  those  two  days  of  life  by  your 
side  under  the  eye  of  God.  I  relieve  myself  as 
best  I  can  by  pouring  out  the  surplus  of  my  en- 
chantment upon  this  paper.  Sleep  well,  my 
adored  one,  I  love  you  and  bless  you. 

JULIETTE. 


8  a.  m.,  Thursday,  November  6th, 

CjrOOD  morning,  my  sweetheart,  my  adored  one. 
I  wish  my  kisses  had  wings,  that  you  might  find 
them  on  your  pillow  at  your  awakening.  If 
you  only  knew  how  much  I  love  you,  you  would 
understand  that  for  me  there  is  life,  heart  and 
soul,  only  in  you,  by  you,  and  for  you.  Yester- 
day when  I  passed  your  old  house  in  the  Place 
Royale  all  the  memories  of  our  love  and  happi- 
ness awoke  again  within  me.  I  stood  awhile  be- 
fore it,  kissing  its  threshold  with  my  eyes,  finger- 
ing the  knocker,  pushing  the  door  ajar  to  peer  in, 
as  I  would  look  at  the  inside  of  a  reliquary,  or 
touch  some  sacred  object.  Then  I  went  into  the 
garden  to  gaze  up  at  the  windows  whence  you 
sometimes  looked  down  upon  me.  I  wandered 
all  about  the  district  in  the  same  sweet,  sad  tremor 
I  experience  when  I  read  over  your  old  love- 
letters.  I  traced  our  past  happiness  upon  every 

330 


To  Victor  Hugo 

stone  of  the  pavement,  at  every  street-corner,  on 
the  shop-signs — everywhere  I  found  memories  of 
our  kisses  among  those  surroundings  where  I  en- 
joyed happiness  for  so  long,  where  you  loved  me 
and  I  adored  you — where,  eight  years  ago,  I 
would  gladly  have  lain  me  down  to  die  if  God  had 
left  me  the  choice.  JULIETTE. 

i  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  December  ifth,  1851. 

BRUSSELS. 

oELOVED  one,  I  wish  the  first  sheet  of  paper  I 
use,  the  first  word  I  write,  in  this  hospitable  coun- 
try, to  be  a  message  of  love  from  me  to  you.  It 
is  surely  the  least  I  can  do,  since  my  every 
thought,  my  life  and  heart  and  soul,  pass  through 
you  before  reaching  the  common  objects  of  this 
world  and  returning  to  me.  Is  it  indeed  possible 
that  you  are  safe,  my  poor  treasure,  and  that  I 
have  nothing  further  to  fear  for  your  life  or  lib- 
erty! Is  it  true  that  you  love  me,  and  that  you 
deign  to  rely  upon  me  in  the  difficult  passages  of 
life?  Is  it  conceivable  that  I  am  henceforth 
happy  and  blest  among  women,  and  that  I  have 
the  right  to  raise  my  head  and  bask  openly  in  the 
sunlight  of  love  and  self-sacrifice!  Ah,  God,  I 
thank  Thee  for  all  the  gifts  and  joys  and  blessings 
Thou  dost  bestow  upon  me  to-day,  in  the  revered 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

and  adored  person  of  my  sublime  beloved!  All 
my  efforts  shall  be  directed  towards  deserving 
them  more  and  more.  All  my  gratitude  is  for 
Thee,  my  God !  JULIETTE. 


j.jo  p.  m.}  Wednesday,  December  i?th,  1851. 

BRUSSELS. 

JDO  not  worry  about  me,  my  beloved,  for  I  never 
love  you  better  or  more  tranquilly  than  when  I 
know  you  are  attending  to  your  family  duties  and 
busying  yourself  with  securing  the  peace  and 
comfort  of  your  wife  and  children.  Pray  devote 
yourself  entirely  to  the  service  of  your  noble  wife 
for  the  time  of  her  sojourn  here.  Do  not  deny 
her  any  of  the  little  pleasures  that  may  divert  her 
mind  from  the  heavy  trials  she  has  just  under- 
gone. Let  my  resignation  and  courage,  my  con- 
sideration and  devotion,  help  to  smooth  the  rough 
places  of  life  for  her  as  long  as  she  remains  with 
you.  Give  her  all  the  consolation  and  joy  in  your 
power.  Lavish  upon  her  the  respect  and  affec- 
tion she  deserves,  and  do  not  fear  ever  to  wear 
out  my  patience  and  trust  in  you. 

I  see  you  coming,  my  adored  one.     Bless  you. 

JULIETTE. 


To  Victor  Hugo 

j.jo  p.  m.,  Monday,  January  igth,  1852. 

BRUSSELS. 

1  HAD  set  myself  a  task,  beloved,  before  writing 
to  you,  in  order  to  earn  that  sweet  reward.  I 
have  just  completed  it,  and  without  further  delay 
I  proceed  with  my  insignificant  vaporings,  in  the 
intervals  of  copying  two  most  interesting  stories. 
I  am  not  writing  for  your  benefit,  but  for  the 
pleasure  it  gives  me  to  babble  a  few  tender  words 
to  you  in  default  of  the  kisses  and  caresses  I  can- 
not give  you  at  this  distance. 

My  Victor,  as  you  do  not  wish  me  to  be  sad,  and 
hate  to  feel  that  I  am  unhappy,  and  dread  the 
sight  of  my  pain,  you  must  adopt  the  habit  of  tell- 
ing me  everything  frankly  and  under  all  circum- 
stances. Your  deceptions,  however  trivial  and 
kindly-meant,  hurt  me  far  more  than  the  harshest 
of  truths  (if  you  were  capable  of  harshness  to- 
wards any  creature).  I  declare  this  without  bit- 
terness and  in  the  form  of  an  appeal,  my  beloved. 
Do  not  hide  anything  from  me.  Try  to  manage 
that  your  answers  to  the  admiring  letters  certain 
women  address  to  you  should  be  written  at  my 
house  rather  than  elsewhere.  Do  not  delay  tell- 
ing me  things  until  I  have  guessed  them  for  my- 
self or  circumstances  have  betrayed  them.  No 
hints  can  be  unimportant  where  jealousy  is  con- 

333 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

earned,  and  there  is  no  happiness  without  com- 
plete confidence.  Therefore,  my  beloved,  I  im- 
plore you  with  all  the  urgency  my  soul  is  capable 
of,  to  tell  me  everything — even  the  ownership  of 
those  opera  glasses,  and  about  the  Hugehnann 
notes,  of  which  I  have  several  here,  forwarded 
from  Belle-He,  and  certain  names  and  addresses ; 
and  about  those  actresses  you  protect  with  so 
much  solicitude,  and  the  machinations  of  the  blue- 
stockings who  apply  to  you  for  mysterious  noc- 
turnal interviews,  under  pretext  of  enlisting  your 
pity  or  your  literary  sympathy — about  Mile.  Con- 
stance, too,  in  spite  of  her  significant  name  and 
reassuring  age.  I  want  to  know  everything — I 
must  know  everything,  if  you  are  really  concerned 
for  my  peace  of  mind,  and  health,  and  happiness. 
Then  I  shall  become  calm,  patient,  happy;  my 
pulse  will  beat  evenly,  I  shall  grow  fat  and  smil- 
ing. Does  not  all  that  make  it  worth  while  for 
you  to  be  frank,  loyal  and  ever  faithful  towards 
me  ?  JULIETTE. 

I  p.  m.,  Monday,  March  22d,  1852. 

BRUSSELS. 

YOU  may  give  me  something  to  copy  for  you 
now  if  you  like.  I  have  nearly  finished  that 
foolish  scrawl,  so  if  you  want  to  utilize  my  time, 

334 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  can  send  me  anything  you  like.  I  am  quite 
at  your  disposal.  Meanwhile,  I  am  mending  your 
underlinen  and  my  own  and  watching  the  clouds 
sail  above  my  narrow  horizon.  I  envy  them 
without  having  the  courage  to  follow  their  ex- 
ample and  allow  myself  to  be  driven  by  chance 
winds  or  caprice.  I  am  too  lazy,  bodily  and  men- 
tally, to  move.  I  recline  in  my  chimney  corner, 
cosily  humped  up,  and  my  soul  lies  torpid  within 
me.  I  am  not  exactly  unhappy,  neither  am  I  sad 
in  the  true  meaning  of  the  word — but  I  am  un- 
easy and  depressed.  I  feel  a  threatening  influ- 
ence in  the  atmosphere  about  me.  What  it  is,  I 
cannot  precisely  say,  but  I  am  under  some  evil 
thrall.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  mystery  between  us 
that  you  are  trying  to  conceal,  and  that  fate  will 
torce  me  to  discover  sooner  or  later.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  safer  not  to  try  to  hide  things  from  me 
— it  would  certainly  be  more  loyal  and  generous ; 
but  as  neither  prayers  nor  tears  can  induce  you  to 
give  me  your  full  confidence,  I  will  await  my  fate 
with  resignation.  After  all,  as  long  as  you  ar- 
range your  life  to  suit  your  own  feelings  and 
tastes,  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  I  have  never 
meant  to  force  myself  upon  you  in  any  case,  there- 
fore, my  Victor,  whatever  happens,  you  may  be 
sure  I  shall  place  no  obstacle  in  the  way  of  your 

335 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

happiness  and  glory.  I  love  you  with  all  the  pride 
of  my  inferiority.  JULIETTE. 

Sunday  morning,  July  i8th,  1852. 

BRUSSELS. 

CrOOD  morning,  my  Victor.  I  will  do  exactly 
as  you  like.  So  long  as  my  love  is  not  called 
into  question,  what  does  it  matter  how  and  when 
my  body  changes  its  habitat  and  moves  from 
Brussels  to  Jersey?  Therefore,  my  Victor,  I 
make  no  objection  to  starting  at  the  same  time  as 
you.  Between  the  pain  of  a  twenty-four  hours' 
separation  and  the  mortification  of  traveling  with 
you  as  a  total  stranger,  my  poor  heart  would  find 
it  hard  to  choose.  It  is  quite  natural  that  I  should 
sacrifice  myself  to  appearances  and  respect  the 
presence  of  your  sons  by  this  painful  incognito, 
but  it  seems  cruelly  unjust  and  ironical  that  it 
should  be  required  of  my  devotion  and  fidelity  and 
love,  when  it  was  never  thought  of  in  the  case  of 
that  other  woman  whose  sole  virtue  consisted  in 
possessing  none.  For  her,  the  family  doors  were 
always  open,  the  deference  and  courteous  protec- 
tion of  your  sons  exacted ;  your  wife  extended  to 
her  the  cloak  of  her  consideration,  and  accepted 
her  as  a  friend,  a  sister,  and  more.  For  her,  in- 
dulgence, sympathy,  affection — for  me,  the  rigor- 

336 


To  Victor  Hugo 

ous  application  of  all  the  penalties  contained  in 
the  code  of  prejudice,  hypocrisy,  and  immorality. 
Honors  for  the  shameless  vices  of  the  society  lady 
— only  indignities  for  the  poor  creature  who  sins 
through  honest  devotion  and  love.  It  is  quite 
simple.  Society  must  be  considered.  I  will  leave 
for  Jersey  when  and  how  you  will. 

I  am  quite  ready  to  copy  for  Charles.  I  fear  he 
may  find  my  bad  writing  more  tiresome  than  use- 
ful, but  I  shall  do  my  best,  and  I  will  get  some 
better  pens.  He  should  send  me  the  manuscript 
as  soon  as  possible.  From  now  till  then  I  am,  my 
Victor,  at  your  absolute  disposal. 

JULIETTE. 

p  a.  m.,  Thursday,  December  2d,  1852. 

JERSEY. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  divine  adored  love.  When 
one  considers  what  the  infamous  trap  laid  for 
you  on  the  2d  of  December  has  inspired  you  to 
write,  one  is  tempted  to  give  thanks  to  Provi- 
dence. It  almost  seems  as  if  that  dastardly  crime 
had  been  committed  for  the  aggrandizement  of 
your  renown  and  the  better  instruction  of  nations. 
I  do  not  think  any  scoundrel  will  ever  be  found, 
bold  enough  to  repeat  the  offense,  after  reading 
your  fulminating  poems.  Just  a  year  ago,  on  this 

337 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

day  and  at  this  hour,  I  learnt  the  news  of  the 
Coup  d'etat  through  poor  Dillon.  Knowing  how 
closely  it  concerned  me,  the  worthy  creature 
rushed  to  my  house  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Ger- 
main to  warn  me  and  place  her  services  at  my  dis- 
posal, which  meant  at  yours,  for  she  is  a  brave, 
noble  woman.  From  that  moment  until  the  day  I 
received  your  dear  little  letter  from  Brussels  an- 
nouncing your  safety,  I  lived  in  a  state  of  night- 
mare. I  only  woke  again  to  life  and  happiness 
when  I  found  myself  in  your  arms  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  1 4th  of  December  in  the  Customs  shed 
at  Brussels.  Since  then,  my  beloved  Victor,  my 
sublime  Victor,  I  have  never  let  a  day  pass  with- 
out thanking  God  for  rescuing  you  so  miracu- 
lously, nor  have  I  ceased  for  one  minute  to 
admire  and  adore  you.  JULIETTE. 

p  a.  m.,  Friday,  December  $d,  1852. 

JERSEY. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  life,  my  soul,  my  joy,  my 
happiness. 

Dear  adored  one,  from  yesterday  until  the  I4th 
of  this  month  there  is  not  a  moment  that  does  not 
recall  to  me  the  dangers  you  were  exposed  to  a 
year  ago,  and  the  terrors  and  inexpressible  an- 
guish I  endured  all  through  those  awful  ten  days. 

338 


To  Victor  Hugo 

A  year  ago,  at  this  very  hour  of  the  morning,  you 
stood  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine,  alone,  hold- 
ing and  challenging  a  frantic  mob  lost  to  all  sense 
of  reason  and  restraint.  I  can  see  you  now,  my 
poor  beloved,  calling  upon  the  soldiers  to  remem- 
ber their  duty  and  their  honor,  threatening  the 
generals,  withering  them  with  your  contempt. 
You  were  terrible  and  sublime.  You  might  have 
been  the  Genius  of  France  witnessing  in  an  agony 
of  bitter  despair,  the  accomplishment  of  the  most 
cowardly  and  despicable  of  crimes.  It  is  an  ab- 
solute miracle  that  you  escaped  alive  from  that 
spot  which  echoed  with  the  solitary  force  of  your 
heroic  fury.  When  I  think  of  it  I  still  feel  terri- 
fied and  dazzled.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  in.,  Saturday,  November  2jth,  1852. 

JERSEY. 

(jrOOD  morning,  my  poor  flayed,  mutilated  dar- 
ling. How  I  pitied  you  yesterday  during  the 
long-drawn-out  massacre  of  your  masterpiece  1 
which  however,  like  an  Immortal,  emerged  from 
the  ordeal  finer  and  in  greater  glory  than  ever. 
As  for  me,  my  treasure,  I  could  only  admire  and 
envy  your  heroic  impassivity  in  the  face  of  that 
frightful  profanation.  I  could  hardly  sit  still,  so 

1  A  troupe  of  actors  passing  through  Jersey  had  insisted  upon 
playing  Angela  before  the  exiled  poet. 

339 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

vexed  and  irritated  did  I  feel  at  the  audacity 
of  those  wretched  strolling  mountebanks.  Yet 
Heaven  knows  how  hard  they  must  have  worked 
to  be  even  as  ridiculous  as  they  were.  One  can- 
not be  really  angry  with  them,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  recall  them  individually  without  laughing  till 
the  tears  run  down  one's  cheeks.  That  is  what  I 
have  been  doing  ever  since  I  came  out  of  that  hor- 
rible little  theater,  for  I  did  not  sleep  very  much. 
My  thoughts  were  busy  with  you,  my  adored  one ; 
I  was  seeing  you  again  in  imagination,  handsome, 
young,  triumphant,  as  you  were  at  the  original 
performance  of  your  Angela.  I  felt  all  the  ten- 
derness and  adoration  of  those  old  days  surging 
up  again  in  my  heart.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  m.,  Monday,  December  2pthf  1852. 

JERSEY. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  too  dearly  loved  little  man. 
I  am  cleverer  than  you,  for  I  do  not  need  lenses, 
paper,  chemicals,  and  sunshine,  to  reproduce 
you  in  every  form  within  my  heart.  Love  is 
a  splendid  stereoscope;  it  throws  all  the  photo- 
graphs and  daguerreotypes  in  the  world  into  the 
shade.  It  can  even,  if  the  need  exist,  convert 
black  jealousy  into  white  confidence,  and  force 
into  relief  the  smallest  modicum  of  happiness,  the 

340 


To  Victor  Hugo 

slightest  mark  of  love.  That  being  so,  I  hardly 
know  why  I  desire  so  ardently  to  multiply  your 
dear  little  pictures  around  me,  unless  it  is  that  I 
wish  to  compare  them  with  those  of  my  inner 
shrine.  Whatever  be  the  reason,  I  do  implore 
you,  my  dear  little  man,  to  give  me  one  as  soon  as 
possible;  it  will  be  such  a  pleasure  to  me.  Mean- 
while, my  poor  persecuted  hero,  I  cannot  tell  what 
trials  the  future  may  have  in  store  for  you,  but  I 
know  that  as  long  as  a  breath  of  life  remains 
within  me  I  mean  to  expend  it  in  defending, 
guarding,  and  serving  you.  My  faith  in  the 
power  of  my  love  amounts  to  superstition;  I  feel 
that  so  long  as  I  care  for  you,  nothing  irretriev- 
ably bad  can  happen  to  you.  This  is  neither  pride 
nor  fatuousness  on  my  part ;  it  is  a  sort  of  intuition 
that  comes  to  me  I  think  from  Heaven  above. 

JULIETTE. 

p  p.  m.,  Thursday,  January  6th,  1853. 

JERSEY. 

IF  the  soul  could  take  visible  shape,  you  would 
perceive  mine  at  this  moment,  my  sweet  adored 
one,  bending  over  you  and  smiling.  If  kisses  had 
wings  you  would  feel  them  swooping  about  your 
dear  little  person  in  clouds,  like  joyous  birds  upon 
a  beautiful  flowering  bush.  Unfortunately  my 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

soul  and  kisses  have  to  pass  and  repass  before 
you,  invisible,  and  perhaps  even  unsuspected  by 
you.  But  that  does  not  deter  me,  and  I  am  drawn 
irresistibly  to  you  by  the  need  of  living  in  your 
atmosphere.  My  thoughts  sit  boldly  at  your  side 
wherever  you  are.  However  my  chastened  per- 
sonality may  bend  under  the  contempt  and  disdain 
of  the  world,  my  love  rears  itself  proudly  in  the 
consciousness  of  its  superiority.  While  you  leave 
my  body  standing  outside,  it  enters  hardily  with 
you  and  leaves  you  not.  This  may  not  be  very 
tactful,  but  it  is  the  mark  of  an  ardent  and  loyal 
heart.  And  after  all  we  are  living  "on  an 
island"!  I  can  see  you  making  eyes  at  your 
neighbor  on  the  left  and  signaling  to  the  one 
opposite.  I  want  you  to  be  mine  absolutely,  body 
and  soul,  and  I  do  not  mean  to  share  one  little  bit 
of  you  with  anybody.  You  must  make  up  your 
mind  to  that  and  content  yourself  with  enjoying 
the  cosmopolitan  cookery  of  that  Hungarian 
Lucullus.2  I  will  allow  you  to  gorge  like  four 
Englishmen  and  drink  like  one  Pole,  but  I  shall 
not  take  my  eyes  off  you  and  shall  watch  your 
every  movement.  I  think  you  laugh  a  great  deal 
for  a  grave  man  with  a  handsome  mouth — and 
your  hands  are  enough  to  bring  a  blush  of  envy 

2Teleki,  one  of  Victor  Hugo's  friends  in  Jersey. 

342 


To  Victor  Hugo 

to  the  paws  of  all  those  exiled  females!  They 
suffer  by  comparison  —  so  much  the  better  !  Hold 
your  tongue,  drink,  turn  your  head  my  way  at 
once,  and  keep  it  there.  JULIETTE. 


12.30  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  February  istf 

JERSEY. 

I  REALLY  mean  what  I  said  just  now,  my  dear 
little  boy.  Instead  of  posing  interminably  in 
front  of  the  daguerreotype  3  you  could  quite  well 
have  taken  me  for  a  walk  if  you  had  wanted  to. 
Anyhow,  pretexts  for  keeping  away  from  me  will 
never  fail  you,  and  the  fine  weather  will  now  add 
many  to  those  already  on  your  list.  Therefore 
I  ask  you  in  all  good  faith,  of  what  use  I  am  to 
you  on  this  island  apart  from  my  functions  of 
copyist  ?  I  do  not  wish  to  reopen  this  eternal  dis- 
cussion in  which  you  never  tell  me  the  truth,  yet 
I  shall  never  cease  to  protest  against  a  state  of 
things  so  foreign  to  true  love  and  so  little  con- 
ducive to  my  happiness.  And  now,  my  dear  little 
man,  you  may  amuse  yourself,  and  make  daguer- 
reotypes and  enjoy  the  glorious  sunshine  in  your 
own  way;  I,  for  my  part,  shall  make  use  of  soli- 
tude, desertion,  and  shadow,  to  bring  to  a  head 
an  attack  of  depression  which  will  easily  develop 

3  Victor  Hugo  had  taken  up  photography. 

343 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

into  a  great  big  sorrow.  I  shall  study  how  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  Meanwhile  I  smile  prettily 
at  you  after  the  fashion  of  a  stage  dancer  ex- 
ecuting the  final  pirouette  which  has  exhausted 
her  strength  and  left  her  breathless.  Brrrr.  .  .  . 
Long  live  Toto !  Long  live  worries  and  all  their 
kith  and  kin !  Long  live  love ! 

JULIETTE. 

p  p.  m.,  Thursday,  April  28th,  1853. 

JERSEY. 

1  COME  to  you,  my  beloved,  as  you  are  unable 
to  return  to  me  this  evening.  I  come  to  tell  you 
I  love  you  without  regret  for  the  past  or  fear  for 
the  future.  I  come  to  you  with  a  smile  on  my 
lips  and  a  blessing  in  my  bosom,  with  my  hand 
upon  my  mutilated  heart  and  my  eyes  full  of  .par- 
don, with  my  purity  restored  and  my  soul  re- 
deemed by  twenty  years  of  fidelity  and  love ;  with 
my  delusions  swept  away  and  my  faith  shining. 
I  come  to  you  without  rancor,  sustained  by  divine 
hope.  I  come  with  the  maternal  devotion  and  the 
passionate  tenderness  of  a  lover,  with  a  mind  in- 
stinct with  reverence  and  admiration,  a  resigna- 
tion and  piety  like  to  those  of  God's  martyrs,  and 
I  constitute  you  the  supreme  arbiter  of  my  fate. 
Do  with  me  what  you  will  in  this  life  so  long  as 

344 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  take  me  with  you  in  the  next.  I  sacrifice  my 
feelings  to  the  virtue  of  your  wife  and  the  inno- 
cence of  your  daughter,  as  a  homage  and  a  safe- 
guard, and  I  reserve  my  prayers  and  tears  for 
poor  fallen  women  like  myself.  Lastly,  my 
adored  one,  I  give  you  my  share  of  paradise  in 
exchange  for  your  chances  of  hell,  considering 
myself  fortunate  to  have  purchased  your  eternal 
bliss  with  my  eternal  love. 

JULIETTE. 

5  p.  m.,  Thursday,  July  ?th,  1853. 

JERSEY. 

WHATEVER  you  may  say,  my  sweet  one,  to 
retard  the  gradual  lapse  of  my  daily  yarns  into 
disuse,  you  cannot  stay  the  progress  of  the  nat- 
ural law,  even  when  assisted  by  my  passive  sub- 
mission to  your  will.  Why  continue  this  custom 
of  writing  to  you  twice  a  day,  when  the  pretext 
for  doing  so  has  faded  from  our  joint  lives?  If 
I  were  a  woman  of  parts  I  could  substitute  im- 
agination and  shrewd  observation  for  love- 
making;  but  as  these  are  entirely  lacking  in  me 
I  have  nothing  to  record  in  those  bulletins  where 
kisses  and  caresses  once  occupied  the  chief  place. 
Now,  when  I  have  said  good  morning,  and  alluded 
to  the  state  of  the  weather,  I  have  nothing  more 

345 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  say,  because  I  am  stupid.  Your  influence  alone 
can  extract  what  is  in  my  heart.  For  this  reason, 
my  dear  one,  these  scribbles  became  blank  and 
aimless  from  the  moment  the  happiness  that  once 
dictated  them  began  to  die  away  and  degenerate 
into  a  friendship  despoiled  of  all  pleasure  and 
voluptuousness.  I  do  not  reproach  you,  my 
adored  one,  any  more  than  I  reproach  myself  for 
not  being  still  the  woman  you  loved  beyond  every- 
thing— still  it  might  be  better  to  discontinue  this 
daily  record  of  the  change,  and  to  give  up  the 
piteous  babblings  which  no  longer  have  even  the 
excuse  of  wit.  JULIETTE. 

2.30  p.  m.,  Saturday,  September  24th. 

JERSEY. 

HOW  one's  brain  scintillates  from  living  for 
ever  within  four  walls!  What  sparkling  and 
varied  incidents  one  experiences  in  this  existence 
of  a  squirrel  in  a  cage !  For  my  part  I  am  so  in- 
spired by  it  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  com- 
mence. Let  us,  therefore,  proceed  in  due  se- 
quence: my  cat,  which  has  been  slumbering  for 
the  last  two  hours  on  its  right  ear,  has  just  turned 
over  on  to  its  left. 

Pere  Nicotte  abandoning  the  plowshare,  an- 
nounces for  Thursday  the  2Qth  of  September,  the 

346 


To  Victor  Hugo 

sale  by  auction  of  three  fat  hogs,  a  sow  with  her 
eight  sucking  pigs,  three  yearling  bulls,  another 
rising  two,  and  other  items  too  numerous  and 
too  peculiar  to  enumerate. 

Births :  August  5th.  Blanche  Laura,  daugh- 
ter of  Mr.  Harper  Richard  Hugo. 

The  annual  dinner  of  the  Society  will  take  place 
on  the  above-mentioned  day.  Those  intending  to 
be  present  and  those  proposing  to  furnish  fruit 
for  the  same,  are  urgently  requested  to  send  in 
their  names  on  or  before  the  preceding  Saturday. 

What  more  do  you  want?  Eleven  pigs,  not 
including  the  sow,  three  yearling  bulls,  not  in- 
cluding the  one  rising  two,  a  daughter  of  your 
own,  and  permission  to  invite  yourself  to  a  din- 
ner of  the  Society,  and  even  to  furnish  the  fruit 
for  it.  If  all  this  does  not  attract  you  and  stir 
the  very  marrow  of  your  bones,  and  tempt  your 
appetite,  you  must  be  dead  to  the  promptings  of 
sensibility,  paternity,  and  sensuality.  In  that 
case,  go  to  bed  and  to  sleep  and  leave  me  to  my- 
self— the  more  so,  as  I  do  not  happen  to  possess 
an  accommodating  table,4  to  furnish  me  with 
ready-made  apparitions.  Remember,  I  have  to 
be  my  own  Dante,  ^Esop,  and  Shakespere, 

*  An  allusion  to  spiritualism,  to  which  Victor  Hugo  had  just 
fallen  a  prey. 

347 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

whereas  you  catch  the  dead  fish  that  the  spirits 
of  the  other  world  attach  to  your  lines  —  a  pro- 
ceeding practiced  in  the  Mediterranean  long  be- 
fore those  tittle-tattling  tables  were  thought  of. 
Pray  accept  my  most  tender  sentiments. 

JULIETTE. 


10  a.  m.,  Sunday,  January  ist, 

JERSEY. 

1  LOVE  you  so  much,  my  darling,  that  I  cannot 
find  anything  else  to  say  to  you.  My  poor  spirit 
is  ready  to  give  way  under  the  weight  of  too 
much  love,  like  a  bough  bending  under  an  ab- 
normal show  of  fruit  ;  but  my  heart  has  strength 
enough  to  bear  without  flinching,  the  infinite 
tenderness,  admiration  and  adoration  I  feel  for 
you. 

What  a  letter,  my  adored  one  !  I  read  it  with 
my  heart  in  my  eyes.  It  seemed  to  penetrate 
word  by  word  like  sun-rays  into  the  very  marrow 
of  my  bones.  My  Victor,  your  hopes  are  mine, 
your  will,  mine,  your  faith,  mine  ;  I  am  what  you 
deserve  that  I  should  be  ;  I  live  only  for  you  and 
in  you.  To  love  you,  serve  you,  reverence  you, 
adore  you,  are  my  only  aspirations  in  this  world. 
Where  you  are,  I  shall  be;  where  you  struggle, 
I  shall  watch  ;  when  you  suffer  I  shall  pray  ;  when 

348 


To  Victor  Hugo 

you  are  threatened  I  will  defend  you,  save  you,  or 
die.  I  tell  you  all  this  pell-mell  and  anyhow,  my 
adored  Victor,  for  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  dis- 
cipline my  thoughts  when  they  fly  in  your  di- 
rection— they  are  less  amenable  to  common  sense 
than  to  my  heart  and  soul,  which  are  in  ecstasy 
since  this  morning.  I  know  not  what  trials  may 
still  be  in  store  for  you,  my  sublime  persecuted 
love,  but  I  can  answer  for  my  own  courage  and  de- 
votion to  you.  Like  you  I  associate  our  two  angels 
with  all  my  prayers  and  hopes  and  joys  and  love. 
I  constitute  them  your  guardian  angels  and  to 
them  I  confide  your  life,  that  is,  mine,  your  heart, 
that  is,  my  happiness.  I  send  you  enough  kisses 
to  make  a  connecting-rod  from  my  mouth  to 
yours.  JULIETTE. 

7.50  p.  m.,  Monday,  July  sist,  1856. 

GUERNSEY. 

T  shall  not  be  said  that  your  adored  name 
ever  appeared  before  me  in  its  dazzling  nimbus 
without  being  saluted  by  my  heart  with  a  triple 
salvo  of  love,  oh,  my  dearly  beloved,  and  without 
the  outpouring  of  all  the  perfume  of  my  soul  at 
your  divine  feet.  Although  I  am  very  tired,  al- 
most ill,  I  cannot  let  this  day  pass  without  giving 
you  my  tenderest,  sweetest,  most  love-laden  greet- 

349 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ings.  Others  may  bring  you  flowers  and  pay  you 
handsome  compliments,  but  I  offer  you  twenty- 
three  years  of  tried  fidelity  free  of  human  stain. 
It  is  all  I  have  to  bestow — it  may  be  insignificant, 
but  it  is  my  all.  Such  a  thing  cannot  be  bought : 
it  is  accounted  among  the  treasures  of  God.  In 
His  keeping  you  will  find  it  when  the  gifts  of 
Heaven  shall  replace  those  of  Earth.  Mean- 
while, to  show  you  that  I  still  belong  to  this 
sphere,  I  send  you  my  beautiful  violet  robe  bro- 
caded with  gold,  but  I  particularly  desire  that  it 
should  form  part  of  the  decoration  of  your  own 
room  rather  than  that  you  should  hang  it  in  the 
gallery.  Still,  if  you  prefer  to  use  it  elsewhere 
I  leave  you  free  to  do  as  you  like,  for  your  pleas- 
ure is  my  sole  desire.  You  must  not  imagine  that 
my  generosity  is  entirely  disinterested,  because 
that  would  be  a  great  mistake.  I  am  sure  you 
would  not  wish  to  remain  in  my  debt,  and  that  you 
will  therefore  give  me  a  little  drawing  for  your 
birthday.  This  is  my  request — now  bring  me 
your  cheeks  that  I  may  kiss  them  without  stint, 
and  do  be  discreet  to-night  with  the  women  who 
will  come  to  offer  you  birthday  greetings.  Keep 
your  heart  entire  and  intact  for  me. 

JULIETTE. 
350 


To  Victor  Hugo 

1.45  p.  m.,  Friday,  December  I2th, 

GUERNSEY. 

ADORED  one,  I  am  sending  Suzanne  to  get 
news  of  your  dear  little  sick  child.5  Although 
night  is  coming  on,  I  hope  I  may  get  a  good  re- 
port ;  this  weather  is  enough  to  give  an  attack  of 
nerves  to  anybody  at  all  disposed  that  way.  You 
saw  Suzanne  yourself,  my  darling,  yet  someone 
is  knocking — fancy  if  it  should  be  you!  It  is! 
What  happiness ! 

How  good,  how  ineffably  good  you  are,  dear 
kind  father,  to  have  come  yourself  to  reassure  me 
about  the  little  feverish  symptoms  that  are  be- 
ginning to  show  themselves  to-night  in  your  little 
girl's  condition.  Let  us  hope  they  will  yield  to 
remedies  this  time  and  that  the  night  may  prove 
more  calm  and  satisfactory  than  the  day  just 
passed.  Meanwhile,  thank  you  with  all  my  heart, 
thank  you  with  all  my  soul,  for  allowing  me  to 
share  your  family  hopes  and  fears  and  joys  and 
troubles.  Thank  you.  If  God  hears  and  grants 
my  prayers  as  I  trust  with  sacred  confidence  He 
will,  your  adored  child  will  soon  be  restored  to 
health  and  happiness.  JULIETTE. 

6Adele  Hugo,  daughter  of  the  poet 


351 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

7.50  p.  m.,  Monday,  i^th  April,  1857. 

GUERNSEY. 

IF  you  say  another  word  I  shall  seize  them  all,8 
so  there!  I  shall  certainly  not  place  my  house, 
my  rooms,  my  old  age,  my  tables,  chairs,  carpets, 
water,  ink,  my  virtue  great  and  small  at  your  dis- 
posal, to  be  rewarded  by  seeing  masterpieces  pass 
under  my  very  nose  on  their  way  to  Teleki, 
Mademoiselle  Alix,  and  other  trollops  of  her 
caliber.  I  must  have  some  too:  castles,  moon- 
light scenes,  sunrises  and  fog  effects.  If  you  are 
not  prepared  for  a  quarrel,  you  must  give  me  at 
least  my  share.  Ah,  here  you  come  !  I  am  not 
sorry  to  see  you.  .  .  .  JULIETTE. 


4  p.  m.,  Saturday,  July  1st, 

JERSEY. 

L/ARLING  beloved,  I  begin  my  letter  in  the 
hope  of  its  being  interrupted  shortly,  and  com- 
pleted this  evening  with  a  lighter  heart  ;  but  I  so 
need  to  love  you  that  I  must  take  the  initiative, 
my  adored  one.  I  have  just  read  the  sad,  tender 
poems  you  gave  me  to  copy.  I  see  you  com- 
ing ..... 

6  Victor  Hugo's  drawings.    He  was  giving  them  away  indis- 
criminately to  his  friends  and  Juliette  was  jealous. 

352 


To  Victor  Hugo 

845  p.  m. 

I  HAVE  just  finished  copying  those  adorable 
verses,  so  poignant  through  their  very  restraint,7 
and  I  weep  for  my  own  grief  as  well  as  yours, 
my  poor  afflicted  friends.  The  shadow  which  has 
fallen  across  your  lives  is  black  night  in  my  case, 
for  all  the  radiant  joys  of  family-life  were  wiped 
out  with  the  death  of  my  only  child.  When  I 
think  of  my  forlorn  infancy  bereft  of  father  and 
mother,  and  of  what  my  death-bed  will  be  without 
the  loving  tears  of  a  child  of  my  own,  I  feel  as  if 
a  curse  were  laid  upon  me  for  the  expiation  of 
some  hideous  crime.  Yet,  oh  God,  I  am  not  un- 
grateful to  Thee — far  from  it;  I  feel  indeed  with 
the  deepest  gratitude  of  heart  and  soul  how  good 
Thou  art!  May  you  be  as  greatly  blest  as  you 
are  loved  by  me,  my  Victor.  You  are  divinely 
grand  and  sublime.  I  kiss  your  dear  little  feet 
and  your  angel's  wings.  I  worship  you  on  my 
knees.  JULIETTE. 

2.30  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  July  zd,  1857. 

JERSEY. 

YES,  since  you  wish  to  hear  it,  I  love  you,  my 
little  man ;  but  I  could  demonstrate  it  much  more 

7  Probably  one  of  the  poems  commemorating  the  catastrophe 
of  Villequier.  They  were  collected  and  republished  in  Les  Con- 
templations. 

353 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

intelligently  by  working  something  for  you  on 
canvas,  than  by  daubing  this  poor  little  sheet  of 
paper  with  hieroglyphics.  If  perchance  death 
should  surprise  us  before  you  have  destroyed  these 
crude  ebullitions  of  my  heart,  inquisitive  folk 
will  experience  keen  disappointment;  they  will 
find  it  difficult  to  distinguish  the  traces  of  an  over- 
mastering passion  in  such  a  petty  mind  as  mine. 
I  hope  you  will  be  provident  enough  and  generous 
enough  to  spare  me  this  humiliation  beyond  the 
grave  by  burning  gradually  all  those  poor  letters 
that  are  so  ineffective  the  moment  they  have 
crossed  the  threshold  of  my  soul.  Meanwhile  I 
continue  to  obey  you  with  entire  submission,  and 
my  love  for  you  is  greater  than  your  genius — 
that  is  to  say,  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,  with- 
out being  able  to  find  anything  to  compare  with 
the  magnitude  of  my  infatuation. 

JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.,  Saturday,  December  ipth,  1857. 

GUERNSEY. 

ALTHOUGH  unwell  and  fatigued,  my  be- 
loved Victor,  I  cannot  leave  this  little  home  where 
we  have  loved  each  other,  without  penning  a 
grateful  farewell  for  all  the  felicity  it  has  shel- 
tered during  the  year  I  have  lived  in  it.  I  trust 

354 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  may  be  as  happy  in  my  beautiful  new  house  as 
I  have  been  here  in  my  hovel.  The  sadness  I 
feel  to-day  is  nearer  akin  to  nerves  than  to  real 
sorrow.  Please  forgive,  my  adored  Victor,  if 
you  have  misunderstood  and  thought  for  a  single 
instant  that  you  were  to  blame  for  it.  Far  from 
reproaching  you  for  the  difficulties  of  my  situa- 
tion, I  admire  your  ineffable  kindness  and  bless 
you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  all  the 
trouble  you  are  taking  to  house  me  handsomely. 
It  was  difficult,  but  of  what  are  you  not  capable 
when  you  set  your  mind  to  a  thing?  I  think  with- 
out affecting  the  false  modesty  of  a  collector,  that 
you  have  succeeded,  and  I  thank  you  with  all  the 
strength  of  my  loving  soul  which  asks  no  better 
than  to  be  happy  in  the  new  paradise  you  have 
just  prepared  for  me.  JULIETTE. 

ii  a.  m.,  Friday,  July  i6th,  1858. 

GUERNSEY. 

JVJ.Y  beloved,  my  beloved,  my  beloved,  what  sin 
have  we  committed  that  God  should  strike  us  so 
cruelly  in  your  health  and  my  love.  Unless  it 
be  a  crime  to  love  you  too  much  I  do  not  feel 
guilty  of  aught.  What  shall  I  do,  my  God,  what 
will  become  of  me !  Victor  ill  and  away  from  me ! 

355 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  dread  lest,  as  I  write,  you  should  almost  hear  my 
sobs  and  guess  at  my  despair,  from  these  reckless 
words. 

I  had  anticipated  this  trouble  and  thought  my- 
self able  to  face  it.  I  know  it  is  imperatively 
necessary  that  you  should  remain  at  home,  yet  my 
whole  being  rebels  at  this  separation  as  at  a  cruel 
injustice  and  the  greatest  misfortune  of  my  life. 
Why,  why,  why  am  I  like  this,  oh,  my  God  ?  Yet 
I  possess  courage,  Thou  knowest  !  Thou  knowest 
also  that  I  desire  his  speedy  recovery  and  love 
him  with  a  devoted,  illimitable  love.  My  adored 
Victor!  Why  then  this  gloomy  and  profound 
despair  which  robs  me  of  strength  and  reason? 
Oh,  God,  dost  Thou  hate  me  ?  Have  my  offenses 
been  graver  than  those  of  jother  women  like  me, 
that  Thou  shouldst  chastise  me  so  mercilessly! 
Oh,  I  suffer,  Victor,  I  love  you,  I  am  wretched  ! 

JULIETTE. 


Noon,  Saturday,  July  24th, 

GUERNSEY. 

ANOTHER  short  spell  of  courage  and  pa- 
tience, my  poor  gentle  martyr,  and  your  deliver- 
ance will  be  complete.  The  doctor  has  just  as- 
sured me  so.  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  rejoice  at 
your  convalescence  without  the  poignant  dread 

356 


To  Victor  Hugo 

of  a  frightful  disaster  mingling  itself  with  my 
joy.  In  the  delirious  delight  this  good  news  gave 
me,  I  kissed  the  doctor's  kindly  hands  which  have 
become  sacred  to  me  since  they  have  ministered 
to  you.  The  poor  man  was  surprised  and  moved 
by  my  emotion  and  looked  quite  embarrassed  — 
almost  shy  of  my  gratitude  —  but  I  was  proud  of 
it.  Why  should  not  a  woman  kiss  the  hands  that 
have  saved  the  life  of  the  man  she  adores  when 
so  many  men  kiss  the  idle  fingers  of  the  women 
who  betray  them. 

Rosalie  arrived  a  few  minutes  after  the  doctor, 
to  fetch  your  egg,  and  found  me  weeping  and 
smiling.  I  explained  the  reason  to  her.  The 
girl  has  surprised  me  in  tears  so  often  that  I  fear 
she  will  take  me  for  a  cry-baby  by  temperament, 
though  God  knows,  I  do  not  lay  claim  to  hyper- 
sensitiveness.  But  how  could  I  have  remained 
calm  during  your  long,  painful  illness.  For,  my 
beloved,  one  can  afford  to  admit  now  that  you 
have  been  in  grave  danger  the  last  twelve  days. 
Happily  all  is  over,  you  are  saved  and  I  thank  God 
on  my  knees  and  adore  you.  JULIETTE. 


Wednesday  morning,  August  4th, 

GUERNSEY. 

A.T  last,  at  last,  at  last,  beloved,  I  have  reached 

357 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

the  blessed  moment  when  I  shall  see  you  again. 
I  am  so  happy  that  words  and  breath  fail  me. 
Oh,  my  adored  one,  how  have  I  managed  to  live 
so  far  away  and  separated  from  you  for  so  long ! 
Three  weeks  ago  I  should  have  thought  such  a 
sacrifice  beyond  my  strength,  yet  to-day  I  am  al- 
most afraid  I  am  seeing  you  too  soon;  for  my 
solicitude  takes  fright  at  the  idea  of  any  impru- 
dence that  might  augment  or  prolong  the  suffer- 
ings you  have  only  just  overcome.  The  worthy 
doctor  assures  me  there  is  no  risk  for  you  in  the 
short  walk  from  your  house  to  mine,  but  I  have 
been  so  wretched  during  your  illness  and  I  love 
you  so  much,  that  my  heart  knows  not  to  whom 
to  hearken.  My  beloved,  my  joy,  my  life,  my 
happiness,  be  prudent !  I  adore  you,  I  await  you, 
my  love.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  m.f  Monday,  June  I3th,  1859. 

GUERNSEY. 

(jrOOD  morning,  my  adored  one.  I  say  it  with 
all  the  tenderness  which  had  to  be  disguised  owing 
to  the  presence  of  your  kind  and  charming  son, 
during  the  lovely  fortnight  we  have  spent  at 
Sark.  Everything  there  was  a  feast  for  mind 
and  heart.  One  thing  only  was  lacking  for  my 
complete  happiness :  the  freedom  to  love  you  aloud 

358 


To  Victor  Hugo 

and  in  all  frankness.  Now  there  is  no  obstacle 
to  the  passionate  expansion  of  my  soul,  but  it  must 
be  in  the  silence  and  solitude  of  my  house,  without 
the  joys,  smiles,  sparkling  wit,  and  poetical  atmos- 
phere you  and  your  son  spread  before  my  dazzled 
eyes  during  the  splendid  fortnight  I  spent  with 
you  both,  so  true  is  it  that  one  cannot  have  every- 
thing at  the  same  time  here  below,  and  that  per- 
fect happiness  is  attained  only  in  Heaven.  But 
while  our  two  souls  are  traveling  thither,  the  one 
assisting  the  other,  I  am  grateful  to  God  for  the 
radiant  fortnight  He  has  just  given  me.  I  thank 
Him  with  a  full  heart  and  beseech  Him  to  repay 
you  and  your  dear  Charles  with  as  many  fruitful 
and  glorious  years  as  you  have  given  me  days  of 
happiness  in  the  tender  intimacy  of  Sark.  As 
usual,  my  words  are  inadequate  to  express  my 
feelings,  but  you  will  understand,  my  beloved,  and 
restore  the  balance  between  the  two. 

I  hope  you  spent  a  good  night,  my  sweet  love, 
I  am  waiting  for  you  to  give  you  as  many  kisses 
as  you  are  able  to  carry.  Until  then  I  adore  you 
with  all  my  soul. 


Tuesday,  June 

JVlAY  God  preserve  you  from  all  evil,  my  be- 

359 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

loved,  and  permit  my  love  and  blessing  to  con- 
stitute the  whole  happiness  of  your  life. 

JULIETTE. 

4.30  p.  m.,  Thursday,  February  i6th,  1860. 

GUERNSEY. 

lOU  sat  at  this  very  spot  just  now,  my  sweet 
love,  writing  in  my  little  red  book  (record  of  our 
love),  the  very  things  my  own  heart  feels  and 
would  have  dictated  to  you,  could  it  have  spoken 
aloud  —  so  certain  is  it  that  my  life  belongs  ab- 
solutely to  you  and  that  my  thoughts  take  birth 
from  your  glances.  Like  you,  I  have  faith  in  our 
radiant  future  in  the  life  beyond  ;  like  you,  I  pray 
to  die  as  near  you  as  possible,  cradled  in  your 
arms,  whenever  it  please  Heaven.  If  I  hearkened 
only  to  the  voice  of  my  selfishness,  I  should  plead 
that  it  might  be  now,  but  I  am  too  conscious  of  the 
sublime  mission  you  are  called  upon  to  accomplish 
towards  humanity  in  this  world  to  dare  put  up 
such  impious  petition.  I  will  wait  bravely,  pa- 
tiently, reverently,  in  prayer  and  adoration,  until 
it  please  God  to  call  us  unto  Himself. 


Thursday  evening, 

1  RESUME  my  scribble  where  I  left  it  when  you 
came  back  this  afternoon,  my  darling  beloved  — 

360 


To  Victor  Hugo 

not  to  add  anything  of  value,  but  to  continue  for 
my  own  pleasure  the  sweet  dialogue  between  my 
heart  and  my  love.  I  thank  you  for  our  dear 
twenty-seventh  anniversary,  which  you  made 
memorable  by  words  so  luminous  and  a  tenderness 
so  penetrating  and  sacred.  I  thank  you  for  my- 
self, whose  pride  and  joy  and  veneration  you  are; 
I  thank  you  on  behalf  of  my  nephew  and  his  fam- 
ily for  the  immense  honor  you  have  conferred 
upon  them  by  writing  to  their  son.  Lastly,  my 
beloved,  I  kiss  your  feet,  your  hands,  your  lips, 
your  eyes,  your  brow,  and  I  only  cease  through 
fear  of  wearying  you  by  this  overflow  of  caresses. 
I  love  you.  JULIETTE. 

8  p.  m.,  Monday,  June  ifth,  1861. 

MONT  ST.  JEAN. 

JD  EARLY  beloved.  Whilst  you  are  expanding 
among  the  tender  delights  of  family  life,  I  am 
invoking  all  my  physical  and  moral  strength  to 
prevent  myself  giving  way  under  the  sadness  of 
your  absence.  As  long  as  my  eyes  could  distin- 
guish the  omnibus,  that  is  to  say,  as  far  as  the 
Betterave  Renais saute,  I  watched  your  progress 
along  the  Gronendael  road.  Beyond  that  point, 
I  was  forced  to  relinquish  the  sweet  illusion  that 
I  could  still  see  the  dear  little  black  speck  on  the 

361 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

horizon,  and  to  acknowledge  that  nothing  lay  be- 
fore me  but  the  endless  void  of  your  twenty-four 
hours'  absence.  So,  as  I  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  myself  or  how  to  kill  time,  I  walked  by  a 
fairly  easy  field-path  as  far  as  the  church  at 
Waterloo,  and  came  back  by  way  of  the  village, 
without  however  visiting  the  church,  notwith- 
standing the  pressing  invitation  of  an  old  woman 
who  called  me  her  dear  friend.  I  got  back  to  the 
hotel  at  six  o'clock  precisely  and  spent  the  half 
hour  before  dinner  freshening  myself  up  by  wash- 
ing from  head  to  foot;  then  I  put  on  a  dressing- 
gown  and  went  down  to  our  little  dining-room, 
where  I  ate  without  hunger  and  drank  without 
thirst,  so  dismal  and  forlorn  am  I  when  you  are 
no  longer  present.  I  must  have  been  pretty  fully 
convinced  of  the  impossibility  of  accompanying 
you  to  Brussels  without  exposing  your  move- 
ments to  undesirable  criticism,  to  accept  the  sad 
alternative  of  remaining  here  alone.  But  that 
certainty  is  no  comfort  whatever,  and  I  am  just 
as  miserable  as  if  it  had  been  in  my  power  to 
make  the  expedition  with  you.  Certainly,  human 
respect  is  a  horrid  beast,  more  malevolent  and 
worrying  than  even  midges  and  their  poisonous 
sting;  and  all  the  ammonia  in  the  world  is  power- 
less against  it. 

362 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  am  well  fitted  to  make  the  comparison  seeing 
that  my  arm  is  already  healed,  while  my  heart 
suffers  more  and  more.  Dear  adored  one,  do 
try  on  your  part  to  spend  profitably  this  interval 
which  is  costing  me  so  dear.  Be  happy;  I  love 
you,  bless  you,  and  adore  you.  JULIETTE. 

8  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  February  ifth,  1863. 

GUERNSEY. 

Vj  OOD  morning,  my  beloved.  In  full  daylight 
and  glorious  sunshine,  in  love  and  happiness,  good 
morning.  Again  I  greet  you,  like  that  first  day 
thirty  years  ago,  when  my  eyes  followed  you 
along  the  Boulevard  after  you  left  me.  My  soul 
winged  flights  of  kisses  to  you  when  you  looked 
round  for  one  more  glance  at  my  window  before 
turning  into  the  Rue  du  Temple.  That  picture 
remains  forever  graven  upon  my  mind;  I  can 
assert  with  truth  that  everything  remains  the 
same  in  my  heart,  as  the  night  I  first  became 
yours.  These  thirty  years  of  love  have  passed 
like  one  day  of  uninterrupted  adoration,  and  I 
feel  now  younger,  more  virile  and  more  capable 
of  loving  you  than  ever  before — heart,  body,  soul, 
all  are  yours,  and  live  only  by  you  and  through 
you.  I  smile  upon  you,  bless  you,  adore  you. 

JULIETTE. 
363 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

/o. jo  a.  m.,  Sunday,  April  26th,  1863. 

GUERNSEY. 

ClOOD  morning,  unutterably  dear  one.  May 
all  the  blessings  of  heaven  and  earth  rest  upon 
you  and  those  you  love.  I  slept  very  well  and 
hope  you  did  the  same.  My  headache  has  gone 
and  I  feel  as  sturdy  as  an  oak-tree.  I  do  not  in 
the  least  desire  a  great  house  whence  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  see  you  in  the  mornings,  and  I  should 
much  prefer  to  keep  my  own  little  perch,  upon 
which  my  heart  poises  so  happily  while  I  watch 
you  moving  about  your  home.  Having  made  my 
protest,  beloved,  you  may  dictate  to  me  the  letter 
I  must  write  to  notify  the  landlord  that  he  need 
not  move  out  to-morrow.  We  can  settle  when 
you  come,  what  time  I  must  be  ready,  so  as  not  to 
lose  one  second  of  our  little  walk  up  the  hill.  I 
am  so  happy  at  the  thought  of  remaining  near 
you,  that  I  feel  as  if  I  had  already  substituted 
youthful  wings  for  my  old  legs.  Even  my  garden 
is  gay,  and  cries  out  to  me  by  the  mouths  of  its 
lovely  flowers:  don't  go  away!  Health  is  where 
happiness  is,  and  happiness  means  loving  each 
other  side  by  side,  eyes  upon  eyes,  soul  with  soul. 
Therefore,  I  shall  stay  here.  That  is  quite 
settled.  J. 

364 


To  Victor  Hugo 

7.50  a.  m.,  Friday,  October  30th,  1863. 

GUERNSEY. 

CiOOD  morning,  good  morning,  and  again 
good  morning,  my  dear,  wide-awake  person. 
You  must  be  very  well  to-day,  judging  by  the 
energy  with  which  you  are  shaking  your  rugs  to 
the  four  winds.  I  hope  that  signifies  a  good 
night,  good  health,  lively  love,  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  As  for  myself,  I  slept  little,  but  soundly.  I 
got  up  before  gun-fire  this  morning,  and  had  al- 
ready finished  my  dressing  when  I  saw  you  on 
your  balcony.  What  a  privation  it  will  be  for 
me,  my  adored  man,  when  I  can  no  longer  watch 
you  in  the  mornings  walking  about  your  house. 
I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  could  ever  get  accustomed  to 
it,  and  I  think  of  it  with  apprehension,  for  there 
is  a  proverb  that  says,  "Out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind."  If  you  gave  up  loving  me,  or  worse, 
loved  me  less,  what  should  I  make  of  life  in  that 
great  empty  drawing-room ! 

At  this  moment,  I  am  trying  to  numb  these  re- 
flections by  the  contemplation  of  the  marvels  you 
are  creating  in  that  future  house  of  mine ;  but  at 
the  bottom  of  my  heart,  I  know  I  shall  always 
mourn  this  poor  little  lodging,  where  my  eyes 
could  watch  over  you,  caress  you,  guard  you, 
preserve  you,  and  adore  you.  The  more  I  think 

365 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

of  it,  the  more  oppressed  I  feel,  and  the  more  I 
blame  myself  for  having  exchanged  the  happiness 
of  every  moment,  for  a  comfort  I  shall  hardly 
have  leisure  to  appreciate,  and  for  health  which 
did  not  require  amelioration.  My  poor  beloved, 
forgive  these  regrets  which  are  only  dictated  by 
love,  and  this  anxiety  which  also  means  love. 
Try  not  to  let  the  separation  of  our  houses  entail 
that  of  our  hearts;  try  to  love  me  as  heartily 
there  as  here,  and  do  not  let  yourself  be  enticed 
away  from  me  by  anybody.  On  those  conditions 
I  promise  to  live  happily  in  the  splendid  rooms 
you  have  prepared  for  me.  J. 

/.jo  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  June  i$th,  1864. 

GUERNSEY. 

D  EARLY  beloved,  I  cannot  forsake  this  little 
home  where  we  have  loved  each  other  for  eight 
years,  without  imprinting  a  kiss  of  gratitude  upon 
its  threshold.  I  have  just  gazed  my  supreme 
farewell  at  your  beautiful  house,  which  has  so 
long  been  to  me  the  polar  star  of  my  heart's  wan- 
derings. Alas,  I  am  lengthening  out  the  mo- 
ments as  much  as  possible ;  I  cannot  bring  myself 
to  leave  this  dear  little  house,  which  I  had  made 
the  shrine  of  my  cult  for  you.  I  should  like  to 
carry  away  the  walls  against  which  you  have 

366 


To  Victor  Hugo 

leaned,  the  floors  you  have  trodden,  and  even  the 
dust  your  feet  have  spurned.  I  fear  lest  my  sad- 
ness be  observed  by  those  who  cannot  understand 
it,  and  the  efforts  I  make  to  seem  unconcerned 
increase  the  constriction  of  my  heart,  and  drench 
my  eyes  with  tears.  Oh,  my  adored  beloved,  how 
you  will  have  to  love  me  and  give  me  all  the  time 
at  your  disposal,  to  console  me  for  the  immense 
grief  I  am  experiencing  to-day  in  quitting  your 
neighborhood,  that  is  to  say,  in  losing  sight  of 
it !  How  you  will  have  to  double  and  treble  and 
quadruple  your  love,  to  replace  the  dear  memories 
I  leave  behind  me !  May  God  protect  me  and  may 
the  dear  souls  of  our  angels  follow  us  to  the  new 
home,  and  bless  us  till  our  last  hour! 

I  adore  you.  J. 

5.30  a.  m.,  Thursday,  June  i6th,  1864. 

GUERNSEY. 

\VHERE  are  you,  my  beloved?  My  eyes  seek 
you  vainly,  you  are  no  longer  there  to  smile  upon 
me :  it  is  all  over — I  shall  never  again  see  the  little 
roost  whence  you  used  to  blow  kisses  and  wave 
your  hand  so  tenderly.  I  am  alone  now  in  my 
fine  house,  alone  forever ;  for  there  is  no  further 
chance  in  this  life  of  having  you  near  me.  I 
shall  never  again  live  in  your  immediate  intimacy, 
as  I  have  done  for  the  past  eight  years. 

367 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

Loyally  as  you  may  endeavor  to  bridge  over 
the  distance  between  our  abodes  by  coming  to  me 
of tener  in  the  day-time,  the  separation  of  our  two 
existences  must  ever  endure.  I  know  it  by  the 
blank  depression  I  am  feeling  this  morning.  I 
would  give  a  hundred  thousand  houses  and 
palaces,  and  the  universe  itself,  for  that  little  slice 
of  horizon  where  my  heart  projected  itself  night 
and  day.  I  am  ashamed  of  having  been  so  mean- 
spirited  as  to  barter  my  daily  happiness  against  a 
chimerical  amelioration  of  health.  I  am  pun- 
ished for  my  transgression,  my  dearest.  I  carry 
death  in  my  heart.  Forgive  me !  I  would  gladly 
smile  at  you,  but  at  this  moment  I  feel  incapable 
of  doing  so.  Forgive  me  for  loving  you  too 
much.  I  hope  you  had  a  good  night.  I  hope 
you  gazed  upon  my  dark,  empty  house  and  gave 
it  one  sigh  of  regret.  I  hope  you  love  me  and 
are  conscious  of  my  absence.  May  God  preserve 
you  from  all  evil,  dearly  beloved,  and  may  your 
love  remain  whole  and  intact  in  severance  as  in 
propinquity.  I  bless  you,  and  adore  you.  A 
kiss  to  all  our  dear  memories.  J. 

8.30  a.  m.,  Sunday,  June  nth,  1865. 

GUERNSEY. 

IT  would  take  very  little  to  make  me  stay  in  bed 

368 


To  Victor  Hugo 

till  noon.  I  am  ashamed  of  myself  and  well  pun- 
ished, for  I  have  not  seen  you  this  morning,  and 
have  not  yet  heard  whether  you  had  a  good  or  a 
bad  night.  I  hope  you  were  clever  enough  to 
sleep  uninterruptedly  from  the  moment  you  laid 
your  head  on  the  pillow,  till  that  of  your  uprising. 
I  shall  be  very  glad  if  I  have  guessed  right. 
Meanwhile,  my  sweet  treasure,  I  send  you  a  smile 
and  a  blessing.  I  am  listening  at  this  moment  to 
the  joyous  cheeping  of  my  tiny  chicks  over  a 
saucer  of  milk  that  has  just  been  put  before  them. 
I  am  also  watching  two  white  butterflies  darting 
after  each  other  among  my  roses,  like  twin  souls 
in  Eden.  The  flowers  are  blooming,  love-making 
is  going  on  all  around,  and  my  heart  is  overflow- 
ing with  tenderness  and  adoration  for  you.  The 
farther  I  progress  in  life,  the  more  I  love  you; 
you  are  the  beginning  and  end  of  my  being.  I 
hope  everything  of  you  and  my  soul  trusts  you  all 
in  all.  You  are  my  radiant  and  divine  beloved. 

j- 

/.jo  a.  m.,  Sunday,  December  2d,  1866. 

GUERNSEY. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  adored  one,  bless  you.  I 
can  afford  to  smile  on  this  date,  abhorred  of  all 
worthy  folk — December  2d — because  it  is,  for 

369 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

me  alone,  a  joyful  anniversary.  If  my  gratitude 
is  an  offense  towards  humanity,  I  humbly  ask  par- 
don of  God  and  man.  I  am  tormented  at  the 
thought  that  you  may  have  slept  badly.  If  I 
could  be  reassured  on  that  point,  I  should  be  quite 
happy  this  morning.  Unfortunately,  I  can  only 
find  out  much  later  when  you  come  here  to  bathe 
your  dear  eyes.  The  mention  of  your  eyes  re- 
minds me  of  your  poor  wife's  sight.  Surely,  if 
the  doctors  were  not  certain  of  curing  her,  they 
would  not  keep  her  so  long  in  Paris,  away  from 
all  her  belongings,  in  winter  weather?  My  de- 
sire for  her  complete  recovery  of  a  sense  of  which 
she  has  made  such  noble  use  in  her  beautiful  book 
"Victor  Hugo  raconte"  makes  me  look  upon  her 
delay  in  returning,  as  a  happy  presage  of  future 
recovery.  I  ask  it  of  Heaven,  with  love. 

j. 

8  a.  m.,  Wednesday,  January  ist,  1868. 

GUERNSEY. 

1  THANK  you,  dearest,  for  letting  me  have  a 
share  in  your  prayers  when  you  plead  to  God  not 
to  separate  us  in  life  or  in  death.  It  is  what  I 
pray  all  day  long;  it  is  the  aspiration  of  my  heart 
and  the  faith  of  my  soul.  I  am  not  a  devout 
woman,  my  sublime  beloved,  I  am  only  the  woman 

370 


To  Victor  Hugo 

who  loves  and  admires  and  reverences  you.  To 
live  near  you  is  paradise;  to  die  with  you  is  the 
consecration  of  our  love  for  all  eternity.  I  want 
to  live  and  die  with  you.  I,  like  you,  crave  it  of 
God.  May  He  grant  our  joint  prayers ! 

I  feel  as  you  do,  my  beloved,  that  those  two 
dear  souls  hover  above  us  and  watch  over  us  and 
bless  us.  I  associate  them  with  all  my  thoughts 
and  sorrows  and  joys,  and  I  place  my  prayers 
under  their  protection  that  they  may  convey  them 
direct  to  the  foot  of  the  Great  White  Throne.  I 
bless  them  as  they  bless  me,  with  all  that  is  loftiest 
and  holiest  and  most  sacred  in  my  soul.  I  am 
stopping  at  almost  every  line  of  this  letter  to  read 
your  adorable  one  over  again,  although  I  already 
know  it  by  heart.  I  kiss  it,  talk  to  it,  listen  to  it, 
and  then  begin  all  over  again.  I  love  you. 

j- 

?  a.m.,  Thursday,  May  Jill,  1868. 

GUERNSEY. 

13  EARLY  beloved,  I  am  rather  less  worried 
since  I  have  seen  you  and  exchanged  a  kiss  with 
you ;  yet  I  know  you  slept  badly.  I  can  feel  that 
you  are  ailing  and  sad.  I  pray  God  to  give  you 
happiness  again  as  soon  as  possible  in  the  form 
of  a  second  little  Georges  all  smiling  and  beauti- 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ful;  meanwhile,  I  beg  Him  to  let  my  love  be  the 
balm  that  will  heal  your  wounds,  until  the  day  of 
resurrection  of  the  sweet  child  for  whom  you 
weep.8 

I  hope  He  will  hear  and  grant  my  petitions  on 
your  behalf,  and  that  you  will  be  restored  to  some 
degree  of  calmness  and  consolation.  When  you 
write  to  your  two  dear  sons,  Charles  and  Victor, 
do  not  forget,  I  beg,  to  thank  them  from  me  for 
the  little  portrait.  Tell  them  I  love  them  and 
mingle  my  tears  with  theirs. 

I  adore  you,  my  great  one,  my  venerated  one, 
my  sublime  mourner.  J. 

7.30  a.  m.f  Sunday,  August  2d,  1868. 

BRUSSELS. 

AGAIN  I  have  slept  better  than  ever,  beloved. 
I  trust  it  has  been  the  same  with  you.  I  was  very 
proud  and  pleased  at  my  walk  with  you  and  your 
family  last  night,  but  I  felt  somewhat  shy  and  ill 
at  ease.  Please  permit  me  to  decline  any  further 
invitations  of  the  kind.  Should  the  occasion 
arise  again,  which  is  improbable,  I  think  good 
taste  and  discretion  demand  that  I  should  hold 
myself  aloof  from  your  family  affections,  and 

8  Charles  Hugo  lost  his  eldest  son,  Georges.  He  gave  the 
same  Christian  name  to  the  second,  who,  with  Petite  Jeanne, 
figures  in  L'Art  d'etre  Grand-ptre. 

372 


To  Victor  Hugo 

only  associate  myself  with  them  at  a  distance,  or 
in  my  own  home.  As  this  feeling,  or  scruple, 
whichever  you  may  like  to  call  it,  could  not  be 
expressed  in  the  presence  of  your  dear  children 
yesterday,  I  consented  to  go  with  you,  while  in- 
tending to  call  your  attention  privately  to  the 
embarrassment  such  an  incident  would  cause  me, 
if  it  should  happen  again.  I  think  you  will  prob- 
ably agree  with  me  and  approve  of  my  sacrificing 
my  pleasure  to  your  tender  family  intercourse. 

j. 

8.  jo  a.  m.,  Wednesday,  August  26th,  1868. 

BRUSSELS. 

JVlY  poor  beloved,  I  pray  God  to  spare  you  and 
your  dear  children  the  misfortune  which  threatens 
you  at  this  moment  in  the  loss  of  your  angelic  and 
adorable  wife.  I  hope,  I  hope,  I  hope.  I  pray,  I 
love  you,  I  summon  all  our  dear  angels  above  to 
her  assistance  and  yours.  I  pray  God  to  make 
two  equal  shares  of  the  days  remaining  to  me, 
and  add  one  to  the  life  of  your  saintly  and  noble 
wife.  My  beloved,  my  heart  is  wrung,  I  suffer 
all  you  suffer  twice  over  through  my  love  for  you. 
I  do  not  know  what  to  do.  I  long  to  go  to  you ; 
I  should  love  to  take  my  share  of  the  nursing  of 
your  poor  invalid,  but  human  respect  holds  me 

373 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

back,  and  my  heart  is  heavier  than  ever.  Su- 
zanne has  only  just  come  from  your  house,  and 
I  already  want  to  send  her  back  again,  in  the  hope 
that  she  may  bring  me  less  disquieting  news  than 
that  which  I  have  just  received.  Oh,  God  have 
mercy  upon  us  and  change  our  anguish  into  joy! 

Thursday,  August  2?th,  1868. 

BRUSSELS. 

AdY  beloved,  in  the  presence  of  that  soul  which 
now  sees  into  my  own,9  I  renew  the  sacred  vow  I 
made  the  first  time  I  gave  myself  to  you :  to  love 
you  in  this  world  and  in  the  next,  so  long  as  my 
soul  shall  exist,  in  the  certainty  of  being  sanc- 
tioned and  blessed  in  my  devotion  by  the  great 
heart  and  noble  mind  which  has  just  preceded  us, 
alas,  into  eternity. 

8  a.  m.,  Friday,  August  28th,  1868. 

BRUSSELS. 

I  PLACED  your  sleep  last  night  under  the  pro- 
tection of  your  dear  one,  my  beloved,  and  im- 
plored her  to  remove  from  your  dreams  all  pain- 
ful memories  of  the  sad  day  just  past.  I  hope 
she  heard  me  and  that  you  slept  well.  Hence- 
forth, it  is  to  this  gentle  and  glorious  witness  of 

9  Madame  Victor  Hugo  had  just  died. 

374 


To  Victor  Hugo 

your  life  in  this  world,  now  your  radiant  pro- 
tectress in  Heaven,  that  I  will  appeal  for  the 
peace  and  happiness  you  require  to  finish  the  great 
humanitarian  task  to  which  you  have  pledged 
yourself.  May  God  bless  her  and  you,  as  I  bless 
her  and  you. 

The  more  I  think  over  to-night's  mournful 
journey,  the  more  convinced  I  feel  that  I  ought 
not  to  take  part  in  it.  The  pious  homage  of  my 
heart  to  that  great  and  generous  woman  must  not 
be  exposed  to  a  wrong  interpretation  by  indiffer- 
ent or  ill-natured  critics.  We  must  make  this 
last  sacrifice  to  human  malignity  in  order  to  have 
the  right  to  love  each  other  openly  afterwards; 
do  you  not  agree,  my  beloved  ?  Afterwards,  may 
nothing  ever  come  between  us  here  below,  nor 
above — such  is  my  ardent  desire ! 

•j. 

5.30  p.  m.}  Friday,  August  28th. 

BRUSSELS. 

JVlY  heart  and  thoughts  are  with  you  and  your 
beloved  dead.  I  am  sad  and  heart-broken,  not 
for  the  angelic  and  sublime  woman  who  now 
shines  out  in  the  world  of  spirits  while  we  here 
below  regret  her,  but  for  you,  my  poor  sad  man, 
to  whom  she  was  a  holy  and  meet  companion ;  for 

375 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

your  dear  children  whose  joy  and  pride  she  was  ; 
for  myself,  to  whom  she  was  ever  a  discreet  and 
considerate  protectress. 

My  heart  is  torn  by  your  grief,  my  poor 
afflicted  ones;  my  eyes  rain  all  the  tears  you  are 
shedding.  Dear  treasure,  I  beg  your  wife  to  ob- 
tain for  you  the  courage  you  need.  May  her 
memory  remain  with  you,  sweet  and  gentle  and 
benign  as  was  her  exquisite  person  in  life.  I  en- 
trust you  to  her  as  I  confide  myself  to  you,  and  I 
bless  you  both.  J. 


2  p.  m.,  Tuesday,  February  1st, 

GUERNSEY. 

OlNCE  I  have  seen  you,  my  great  beloved,  I  am 
feeling  much  better.  Your  smile  has  completed 
my  cure.  It  may  be  an  illusion  of  my  eyes  and 
heart,  but  at  this  moment  I  seem  to  feel  the 
breath  of  spring.  Perhaps  it  proceeds  from  the 
nearness  of  the  anniversary  of  the  first  perform- 
ance of  Lucre  ce  Borgia,  which  is  to  be  acclaimed 
and  applauded  by  an  enthusiastic  public  to-mor- 
row night  just  as  it  was  thirty-seven  long  years 
ago.  Bonaparte  may  do  his  best  to-morrow 
against  this  magnificent  Play,  he  will  get  no  good 
out  of  his  police-engineered  cabal.  I  think  he 
will  hardly  dare  risk  such  an  infamous  at- 

376 


To  Victor  Hugo 

tempt,  but  I  wish  it  was  already  Saturday,  that 
we  might  be  quite  easy.  Meanwhile,  I  love  you 
after  the  fashion  of  Princess  Negroni. 

JULIETTE. 

8.  jo  a.  m.,  Monday,  February  iqih,  1870. 

GUERNSEY. 

CjOOD  morning,  my  dearest.  Did  you  sleep 
better  last  night,  my  great,  little  man?  Were 
you  warmer  ?  How  are  you  this  morning?  It  is 
indeed  tedious  to  have  to  wait  until  this  after- 
noon to  hear  all  this.  I  am  trying  to  moderate 
my  impatience  by  doing  things  for  you.  I  have 
already  selected  your  two  eggs,  put  fresh  water 
into  your  finger-bowl,  and  a  snow-white  napkin  on 
your  plate.  Suzanne  is  making  your  coffee,  which 
perfumes  the  whole  house,  while  I  trace  these 
gouty  old  "pattes-de-mouche,"  which  are  to  lay  all 
the  tender  nonsense  of  my  heart  at  your  feet.  I 
am  beginning  early,  as  you  see,  to  be  certain  that 
they  arrive  in  time.  The  thaw  has  begun.  I  was 
quite  hot  in  the  night,  though  I  must  admit  I  had 
taken  measures  to  that  end ;  so  I  slept  excellently, 
as  you  can  judge  by  the  state  of  my  spirits.  But 
what  I  really  want  you  to  take  note  of  is,  that  I 
adore  you.  J. 

377 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

7.45  a.  m.,  Saturday,  May  21  si,  1870, 

GUERNSEY. 

M.  Y  heart,  my  eyes,  my  soul,  are  bewildered,  my 
beloved,  so  overwhelmed  are  they  with  tenderness, 
admiration  and  happiness!  What  an  adorable 
letter,  and  what  a  marvelous  surprise!  How 
good  you  are  to  me !  How  generous  and  charm- 
ing! Words  fail  me,  and  the  best  I  can  say  is: 
I  love  you !  I  love  you !  I  threw  my  arms  round 
old  Mariette's  neck,  and  almost  embraced  Mar- 
quand  himself  in  the  delirium  of  my  delight. 
What  a  splendid  frame  for  that  lovely  little 
mirror!  It  contains  everything:  flowers,  birds, 
a  shelf,  little  Georges'  sweet  face  above,  and  your 
beautiful  verses  for  wings.  How  can  I  thank 
you  adequately  or  describe  my  gratitude?  For- 
tunate am  I  to  have  eternity  before  me  in  which 
to  bless  you.  I  kissed  my  dear  little  letter  be- 
fore everybody,  but  I  would  not  read  it  until  just 
now  when  I  was  able  to  bolt  my  door.  I  always 
read  you  thus,  my  adored  one.  My  soul  demands 
privacy  for  the  better  understanding  of  your  sub- 
lime words,  and  I  never  finish  the  reading  of  them 
without  feeling  transported  with  love  and  al- 
most prepared  for  the  next  world.  I  love  you ! ! ! 
Mariette  told  me  you  had  spent  a  very  good 
night.  Is  it  really  true?  I  slept  capitally,  too, 

378 


To  Victor  Hugo 

and  am  feeling  more  than  well.  I  have  been  look- 
ing about  for  a  place  for  my  new  treasure,  but 
have  not  yet  decided  on  one.  I  shall  leave  it  to 
you  to  choose  its  proper  place  in  my  museum  of 
souvenirs.  Meanwhile,  I  have  covered  it  away 
from  the  dust  and  put  it  in  the  shady  drawing- 
room.  As  soon  as  I  have  read  your  adorable 
little  letter  again,  I  shall  go  back  and  have  an- 
other look  at  it.  J. 

8  a.  m.,  Monday,  February  26th,  1872. 

PARIS. 

1  HIS  is  your  birthday,  beloved — the  anniver- 
sary of  anniversaries,  acclaimed  in  Heaven  by 
the  great  men  of  genius  who  preceded  you  upon 
earth,  and  blessed  by  me  ever  since  the  day  I 
first  gave  myself  to  you.  We  used  to  celebrate 
it  with  all  the  sweetest  instruments  of  love ;  kisses, 
words  of  endearment,  letters,  all  were  pressed 
into  service  to  make  this  date,  the  26th  of 
February,  a  perfume,  an  ecstasy,  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine. To-day  these  winged  caresses  have  flown 
to  other  realms,  but  there  remains  to  us  the 
solemn  devotion  that  better  becomes  the  sacred 
marriage  of  two  souls  for  all  eternity.  In  the 
name  of  that  devotion  I  send  you  my  tenderest 
greetings  and  beg  you  to  let  me  know  how  you 

379 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

spent  the  night.  I  hope  your  little  breach  of 
regulations  yesterday  did  not  prevent  you  from 
sleeping.  As  for  me,  I  slept  little,  but  I  am  quite 
well  this  morning,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  this 
radiant  date.  I  ask  little  Georges  and  little 
Jeanne  to  kiss  you  for  me  as  many  times  as  you 
have  lived  minutes  in  this  world.  My  dearly  be- 
loved, I  bless  you. 

j. 

2  p.  m.,  Saturday,  April  i^th,  1872. 

PARIS. 

1HIS  is  a  day  of  sunshine:  God,  in  His 
Heaven  above,  and  little  Jeanne  under  my  roof. 
I  hardly  know — or  rather,  perhaps  I  do  know 
which  is  the  brighter  of  the  two,  but  I  am  not 
going  to  tell  you,  for  fear  of  making  you  too 
proud.  What  a  beautiful  day,  and  what  an  ador- 
able little  girl!  But  what  a  pity  we  cannot  all 
enjoy  these  spring-time  delights  together,  walk- 
ing and  driving,  in  town  and  country-meadows. 
I  am  really  afraid  the  good  God  will  weary  of  us 
and  pronounce  the  fatal  dictum:  "IT  IS  TOO 
LATE,"  when  at  last  we  make  up  our  minds  to 
take  our  share  of  life,  sunshine  and  happiness. 
The  terrible  part  is  that  whether  innocent  or 
guilty  we  shall  all  suffer  alike  for  your  transgres- 

380 


To  Victor  Hugo 

sion,  for  divine  justice  is  very  like  that  of  man. 
As  for  me,  I  enter  my  protest  from  my  little  re- 
treat, but  it  serves  no  purpose  except  that  of  an 
idle  pastime:  harmlessly:  it  does  not  even  keep 
me  from  adoring  you.  J. 

12  noon,  Tuesday,  November  i8th,  1873. 

PARIS. 

JVlY  beloved,  I  do  not  desire  to  turn  your  suc- 
cesses into  a  scourge  for  your  back,  but  I  can- 
not help  feeling  that  my  old-fashioned  devotion 
cuts  a  sorry  figure  amongst  the  overdressed 
cocottes  who  assail  you  incessantly  with  their 
blandishments  and  invitations.  This  fantastic 
chase  has  gone  on  for  a  long  time  without  extort- 
ing from  you  any  sign  of  weariness  or  satiety. 
As  for  me,  I  long  only  for  repose — if  not  in  this 
life  (which  seems  difficult  in  my  case  to  obtain), 
then  in  the  immobility  of  death,  which  cannot 
long  be  delayed  at  the  pace  I  am  going.  I  ask 
your  permission  to  begin  preparing  for  it  by  giv- 
ing up  my  daily  letters.  That  will  be  something 
gained;  the  rest  will  come  gradually,  little  by 
little,  till  one  fine  day  we  shall  find  ourselves  quite 
naturally  on  the  platform  of  indifference,  or  of 
reason  as  you  will  prefer  to  call  it.  From  to-day 
on,  therefore,  I  place  the  key  of  my  heart  on  your 

' 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

doorstep,  and  will  wander  away  alone  in  the  direc- 
tion of  God.  J. 

11.15  a.  m.,  Friday,  December  26th,  1873. 

PARIS. 

DEAR  adored  one.  All  your  desires  in  life,  as 
well  as  mine,  are  granted  to-day  if  your  dear  Vic- 
tor has  spent  a  good  night,  as  I  hope.  I  am 
anxiously  waiting  for  Mariette's  return  to  know 
how  the  dear  invalid  is.  ... 

My  poor  beloved,  I  am  in  despair — I  have  just 
seen  Mariette,  who  tells  me  that  your  poor  son  is 
in  high  fever  at  this  moment.1  I  do  not  know 
how  to  tell  you;  I  do  not  think  I  shall  have  the 
strength  to  do  so.  Dr.  See  has  been  sent  for  and 
Mariette  has  just  gone  back  to  hear  what  he 
thinks  of  this  relapse.  Oh,  Heaven  have  mercy 
on  us!  I  hardly  dare  breathe  or  even  weep,  so 
greatly  do  I  dread  betraying  to  you  the  misfor- 
tune which  threatens  you,  my  beloved.  How  can 
I  ward  off  the  fate  that  is  hanging  over  you? 
What  can  I  say  or  do  ?  My  brain  reels !  Ought 
I  to  tell  you  everything — would  it  be  wrong  to 
conceal  from  you  the  imminent  sorrow  that  is  go- 
ing to  wring  your  heart  once  more  ?  I  know  not, 
but  I  lack  courage  either  to  speak  or  to  be  silent ; 

1  Francois  Victor  Hugo  died  in  the  course  of  that  day. 

382 


To  Victor  Hugo 

I  am  in  despair,  yet  I  dare  not  make  moan.  I 
suffer,  I  adore  you.  Pity  me,  as  I  pity  you.  Let 
us  love  each  other  under  this  cruel  trial  as  we 
should  if  Heaven  were  opening  its  gates  to  us. 

j. 

5  o'clock  p.  m.,  Monday,  December  2yth, 


PARIS. 

,  dearest,  try  to  find  in  a  solitary  walk,  which 
may  prove  fruitful  to  the  world,  some  solace  for 
the  painful  agitation  of  your  heart.  My  thoughts 
follow  you  lovingly  and  bless  every  one  of  your 
steps.  Do  not  worry  about  me  in  the  new  ar- 
rangements of  your  life.  Whatever  you  settle 
shall  be  accepted  by  me.  For  forty-one  years  I 
have  followed  that  programme,  and  I  will  do  so 
now  more  than  ever.  Provided  you  love  me  as  I 
love  you,  I  desire  nothing  more  from  God  or  you. 
The  advice  I  give  you,  apart  from  my  own  per- 
sonal concerns,  is  always  practical  and  in  your 
own  interest  and  that  of  your  dear  grand-chil- 
dren. I  should  feel  I  had  failed  in  my  duty  if  I 
kept  the  least  of  my  ideas  from  you  whether  good 
or  bad,  insignificant  or  stupid.  I  love  you  and 
adore  you,  body,  heart  and  soul.  J. 

383 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

12. jo  p.  m.}  Tuesday,  February  ifth,  1874. 

PARIS. 

DEAR  one,  there  is  rather  more  bustle  about 
us  than  usual  on  this  our  sweet  and  sacred  an- 
niversary. We  have  the  little  excitement  of  your 
two  adorable  grandchildren  which  we  had  not 
expected,  but  which  is  all  the  more  delightful  for 
that.  The  perfection  of  happiness  would  have 
been  to  take  them  ourselves  to  that  famous  circus 
which  little  Georges  already  knows,  and  little 
Jeanne  dreams  of;  but  the  bad  weather  and  the 
remains  of  my  influenza  counsel  a  pusillanimous 
prudence.  It  is  not  without  regret,  beloved,  that 
I  impose  this  sacrifice  of  one  of  our  most  precious 
joys  upon  you,  but  I  feel  I  cannot  do  otherwise 
to-day.  As  for  the  dear  little  things,  their  pleas- 
ure will,  fortunately,  not  be  marred  in  any  way. 
So  long  as  they  can  revel  in  the  antics  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Punch  and  their  august  family,  they  will  not 
mind  whom  they  go  with.  That  being  the  case, 
Mariette  is  a  sufficient  escort  to  the  promised  land 
of  Auriol  and  Punch. 

As  for  ourselves,  dearest,  I  trust  that  our  two 
souls,  communing  together,  will  not  miss  those 
fascinating  little  witnesses  of  our  love  over  much. 

j. 

384 


To  Victor  Hugo 

7  p.  m.,  Wednesday,  March  nth,  1874. 

PARIS. 

OE  whose  heart  is  younger  than  his  years 
suffers  all  the  sorrows  of  his  age.  This  aphorism 
contains,  in  a  few  words,  the  secret  of  the  turmoil 
I  involuntarily  bring  into  your  life,  while  I  my- 
self suffer  like  a  soul  in  damnation.  Still,  I  must 
not  allow  this  ridiculous  folly  to  be  an  annoyance 
to  you;  I  must  and  will  get  the  better  of  it  and 
leave  you  your  liberty,  every  liberty,  especially 
that  of  being  happy  whenever  and  however  you 
like.  Otherwise,  my  poor  beloved,  you  will  very 
shortly  come  to  hate  the  sight  of  me.  I  know  it, 
and  it  terrifies  me  in  anticipation.  So  I  am  deter- 
mined to  crush  my  heart  at  all  costs,  that  I  may 
restore  peace  and  happiness  to  yours.  J. 

1.45  p.  m,,  Saturday,  April  4th,  18/4. 

PARIS. 

1  THANK  you,  dear  one,  for  having  been  loyal 
enough  to  tell  me  this  morning  that  you  had 
written  another  poem  to  Madame  M.  I  thank 
you  also  for  having  offered  to  read  it  to  me  and 
not  to  send  it  to  her  till  afterwards.  I  accepted 
this  respite  in  the  first  instance,  but  I  realized 
later  that  what  is  delayed  is  not  lost,  and  that  I 
should  gain  nothing  by  struggling  against  being 

385 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

bracketed  with  this  statue  inhabited  by  a  star, 
and  that  I  was  simply  putting  myself  in  the  absurd 
position  of  the  ostrich  that  tries  to  avert  danger 
by  hiding  its  head  in  the  sand.  Therefore,  be- 
loved, I  beg  you  to  act  quite  freely  and  to  send 
the  verses  dedicated  to  your  beautiful  muse  when- 
ever you  like.  Once  the  poetry  has  been  written, 
it  is  quite  natural  that  you  should  intoxicate  each 
other  without  consideration  for  me.  Besides,  in 
my  opinion,  infidelity  does  not  consist  in  action 
only;  I  consider  it  already  accomplished  by  the 
sole  fact  of  desire.  That  being  settled,  my  dear 
friend,  I  beg  you  .to  behave  exactly  as  you  like, 
and  as  if  I  were  no  longer  in  the  way.  I  shall 
then  have  leisure  to  rest  from  the  fatigues  of  life 
before  taking  my  departure  for  eternity.  Try 
to  be  happy  if  you  can.  J. 


7  a.  m.,  Thursday,  April  nth, 

PARIS. 

rERMIT  me,  my  great  beloved,  to  offer  you  my 
three  score  years  and  ten,  freshly  completed  this 
morning.  Give  the  poor  old  things  a  friendly 
reception,  for  they  are  as  blazing  with  love  for 
you  now,  as  if  they  had  only  been  born  yesterday. 
I  commission  little  Jeanne  to  give  you  seventy 
million  kisses  for  me  to-day,  not  one  less,  but  a 

386 


To  Victor  Hugo 

few  more  if  she  likes.  I  hope  little  Georges'  nose 
has  not  bled  since  yesterday,  and  that  he  slept  well 
like  the  rest  of  you.  I  slept  like  a  top  and  am 
splendid  this  morning.  I  feel  a  degree  of  youth- 
fulness  that  must  proceed  from  the  seventy 
springs  I  have  absorbed  so  freely.  The  sky  it- 
self contributes  its  birthday  greeting  by  pouring 
its  measure  of  sunshine  upon  us.  Therefore, 
long  live  love,  for  us  in  the  first  place  (for  a  little 
selfishness  will  not  harm  happiness),  and  in  the 
second,  long  live  love  for  all  whom  we  love.  May 
you  be  blest,  my  beloved,  in  all  those  you  care  for. 
I  adore  you.  J. 


10.45  p.  m.,  Thursday,  May  fth, 

PARIS. 

L/EAR,  dear  one,  the  separation  I  dreaded  as  a 
veritable  calamity  is  now  an  accomplished  fact. 
God  grant  it  may  not  be  the  beginning  of  the 
end  of  my  happiness.  My  heart  is  full  of  sad 
presentiment.  The  distance  that  separates  us  is 
like  a  broken  bridge  between  our  hearts,  over 
which  neither  joy  nor  hope  may  pass  henceforth. 
I  cherish  no  illusion;  from  this  evening  forward 
all  intimacy  between  us  is  over,  and  my  sweet 
horizon  of  love  is  forever  clouded.  I  try  to  give 
myself  courage  by  reflecting  that  the  happiness 

387 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

I  lose  is  gained  by  you  in  the  affection  of  your 
two  dear  grandchildren.  I  tell  myself  that  this 
compensation  should  be  sufficient  for  me;  still  I 
am  in  despair,  and  I  can  hardly  help  shedding 
floods  of  tears,  as  if  some  irreparable  misfortune 
had  befallen  me,  when  you  walked  away  just  now. 
I  accustomed  myself  far  too  speedily  to  a  happi- 
ness that  was  only  lent  to  me  for  a  little  while. 
But  however  short-lived  it  proved,  I  bless  you, 
and  pray  God  to  turn  my  regrets  and  sorrow  into  a 
future  of  joy  and  kisses  and  ecstasy  for  you  and 
your  two  little  angels.  J. 

p.jo  a.  m.,  Sunday,  June  2ist,  1874. 

PARIS. 

I  HAD  hoped  that  nothing  would  happen  to  dis- 
turb the  sanctity  of  this  sad  anniversary,2  and  had 
counted  on  the  assistance  of  the  angels  of  death 
to  defend  me  from  the  aggressions  of  the  devils 
of  life.  Alas,  I  was  sadly  at  fault,  for  never  was 
a  more  audacious  or  more  cynical  attempt  made 
against  my  peace  of  mind.  One  might  think  that 
the  mangled  remains  of  my  poor  heart  were  a 
target  for  the  arrows  of  those  emissaries  of  vice ! 
I  declare  myself  vanquished  without  a  fight,  and 
ere  my  reason  finally  succumbs,  I  mean  to  place 

2  The  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Claire. 

388 


To  Victor  Hugo 

my  bruised  heart  in  shelter,  far  from  the  flatter- 
ing intrigues  of  which  you  are  the  fortunate 
hero. 

3  p.  m. 

XOU  wish  me  not  to  be  anxious,  not  to  relin- 
quish a  tussle  in  which  I  am  unarmed  ?  It  is  more 
generous  than  wise  on  your  part,  for  what  hap- 
pened to-day,  happened  yesterday,  and  will  again 
to-morrow,  and  I  have  no  strength  left  either 
physical  or  moral.  This  martyrdom  of  Sisyphus, 
who  daily  raises  his  love  heavenward  only  to  see 
it  fall  back  with  all  its  weight  upon  his  heart,  in- 
spires me  with  horror,  and  I  prefer  death  a  thou- 
sand times  over  to  such  torture.  Have  mercy 
upon  me !  Let  me  go !  It  shall  be  wherever  you 
will.  Do  not  run  the  risk  for  yourself  and  me  of 
my  committing  some  frightful  act  of  folly.  I 
ask  you  this  in  the  name  of  your  daughter  and 
mine — in  the  name  of  little  Georges  and  your 
dear  little  Jeanne.  Give  me  a  chance  to  recover 
from  these  reiterated  attacks.  I  assure  you  it  is 
the  only  remedy  possible,  or  capable  of  effecting 
my  cure.  You  will  hardly  notice  my  absence; 
the  children  of  your  blood  and  those  of  your 
genius  and  the  rest,  will  easily  fill  the  void  of  my 
absence,  and  meanwhile  I  shall  regain  calmness. 
I  shall  become  resigned  and  perhaps  be  cured,  and 

389 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

in  any  case  it  will  be  a  respite  for  you  as  well  as 
for  me.  I  assure  you,  my  treasure,  that  it  will  be 
a  good  thing  for  you.  I  beg  you  to  let  me  try  it. 
The  abuse  of  love,  like  the  abuse  of  health,  brings 
suffering  and  death  in  its  train.  The  soul  may 
have  a  plethora,  as  well  as  the  body.  Mine  suffo- 
cates under  its  own  weight.  Let  me  try  to  lighten 
it  in  solitude  and  the  contemplation  of  our  past 
happiness.  I  beg  and  implore  it  of  you  —  I  ask 
it  in  the  name  of  those  you  mourn  and  love. 

j- 


6  p.  m.,  Monday,  February  i6th, 

PARIS. 

JVlY  dearest,  your  letter  burns  and  dazzles  me 
and  I  feel  humbled  by  it,  because  physically  I 
know  myself  to  be  physically  so  far  beneath  your 
ideal  ;  but  morally  when  I  look  inward  and  see  my 
soul  as  your  love  has  transformed  it,  I  am  arro- 
gant enough  to  think  myself  above  it,  and  to  have 
no  fear  of  the  moment  when  I  may  reveal  to  you 
its  resplendent  purity  in  the  eyes  of  God.  Pend- 
ing this,  sublime  and  divine  treasure  of  mine,  you 
must  shut  your  eyes  to  the  sad  reality  of  my  old, 
sickly  body,  and  await  with  patience  the  rejuvena- 
tion promised  in  Heaven.  I  pray  God  to  allow 
me  to  live  as  long  as  you,  because  I  do  not  know 

390 


JULIETTE  DROUET,  ABOUT  1877 


To  Victor  Hugo 

how  I  could  exist  a  single  minute  without  you, 
even  in  Paradise  with  our  holy  angels.  I  hope 
He  will  grant  my  ardent  prayer,  and  that  we  shall 
die  and  rise  again  together  on  the  same  day  and 
at  the  same  hour.  To  ensure  this,  I  must  put  my 
health  on  a  level  with  yours,  which  will  be  diffi- 
cult, for  I  am  very  feeble.  I  try  to,  every  day, 
without  much  success  so  far,  but  I  am  counting 
on  the  spring  to  give  me  a  push  up  the  hill,  so  that 
I  may  continue  to  pace  the  road  at  your  side. 
This  evening,  if  nobody  comes  and  if  Madame 
Charles  leaves  us  early,  I  shall  beg  you  to  let  me 
do  Le  Passus  with  you.  I  should  like  to  celebrate 
the  day  by  something  brave  and  wholesome.  I 
hope  I  shall  manage  it.  I  love  you,  bless  you,  and 
adore  you.  J. 

7.45  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  April  2ist,  1875, 

GUERNSEY. 

CrOOD  morning,  my  great,  good,  ineffable, 
adorable  beloved.  I  pray  Heaven  to  bless  you  in 
Heaven  as  I  bless  you  here  below.  I  hope  you 
slept  as  well  as  I  did,  that  you  bear  me  no  grudge 
for  the  irritability  born  of  excessive  fatigue,  and 
that  you  do  not  love  me  less  on  account  of  it. 
My  confidence  in  your  inexhaustible  indulgence 
lends  me  courage  to  proceed  with  the  sad  busi- 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

ness  that  brought  me  here.3  The  thought  that 
we  shall  never  return  to  these  houses  of  ours, 
where  we  loved  and  suffered  and  were  happy  to- 
gether, makes  my  heart  as  heavy  as  if  we  were 
already  attending  our  funerals.  This  fresh 
break  between  the  sweet  past  of  our  love  and  the 
short  future  that  remains  to  us  in  this  life,  makes 
the  present  very  painful.  But  I  am  not  unthank- 
ful for  the  compensations  that  await  us  in  Paris 
in  the  society  of  your  dear  grandchildren — far 
from  it !  I  shall- smile  upon  them  and  bless  them, 
till  my  last  breath,  as  the  tangible  angels  of  your 
happiness  and  mine.  I  am  doing  my  best  to  be 
ready  to  start  on  Tuesday  morning.  I  regret 
not  being  able  to  carry  away  every  relic  of  our 
love,  from  the  soil  of  the  garden  to  the  air  you 
breathe.  By  the  way,  I  have  a  petition  to  make  to 
you,  but  am  ready  to  submit  to  a  refusal  if  you 
do  not  approve  of  granting  it.  I  want  you  to  al- 
low me  to  give  Louis  the  two  splendid  drawings  of 
St.  Paul  and  the  Cock,  which  are  really  mine  to 
dispose  of,  since  you  gave  them  to  me  long  ago. 
Some  mementoes  are  more  prized  by  an  heir  than 
mere  money,  and  I  should  like  to  leave  these  from 
you  to  my  kind  and  worthy  nephew,  if  you  con- 
sent. Meanwhile,  as  I  said  before,  I  will  bow  to 

8  The  removal  from  Hauteville  F eerie. 

392 


To  Victor  Hugo 

a  refusal,  even  if  you  give  me  no  reason,  for  I 
adore  you.  J. 

7.45  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  October  5th,  1875. 

PARIS. 

GOOD  news  from  your  dear  little  travelers. 
The  top  of  the  morning  to  you,  and  long  live  love  ! 
The  telegram  which  came  after  I  was  in  bed,  that 
is  to  say  after  eleven  o'clock,  is  dated  from  Genoa 
and  says  they  arrive  the  day  after  to-morrow  at 
Madame  Menard's  and  will  write  at  once  from 
there.  Meanwhile  they  send  you  thousands  of 
kisses,  of  which  I  make  bold  to  reserve  a  share 
before  being  quite  certain  that  I  am  meant  to  do 
so.  This  long  delayed  arrival  in  France  heralds 
their  speedy  return  home,  which  is  not  at  all  dis- 
pleasing to  me  —  on  the  contrary!  My  gaze, 
night  and  morning,  at  their  dear  little  portraits 
in  no  degree  replaces  their  kisses,  their  sweet 
faces,  and  the  joyous  little  shrieks  one  hears  all 
day  long.  At  last  we  are  touching  the  end  of  our 
long  abstinence  and  shall  soon  be  able  to  devour 
them  whole.  Meanwhile  I  continue  to  feed  upon 
your  heart,  to  whet  my  appetite.  J. 


5  p.  m.,  Sunday,  November  2ist, 

PARIS. 

JJ  EAR  beloved,  your  promise  to  take  me  every 

393 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

day  to  Versailles  if  you  are  obliged  to  return  to 
the  Assemblee  fills  my  heart  with  such  joy  that  I 
have  been  humming  all  the  merry  songs  I  used  to 
sing.  It  is  long  since  I  have  done  such  a  thing. 
What  would  it  be  if  some  lucky  event  sent  us  all 
back  to  Guernsey,  never  to  leave  it  again  .  .  . 
or  at  least,  not  for  a  very  long  time.  What  en- 
chantment, what  a  starlit  dream,  if  God  were 
to  give  us  that  bliss  a -second  time!  I  think  I 
should  promptly  return  to  the  age  I  was  when  I 
received  your  first  kiss.  Fortunately  for  France, 
God  will  not  grant  this  selfish  wish,  but  He  will 
forgive  me  for  entertaining  it  I  hope,  for  I  can- 
not help  loving  you  beyond  everything  in  this 
world,  and  it  does  not  hinder  me  from  being  satis- 
fied with  whatever  happiness  He  is  pleased  to 
vouchsafe,  so  long  as  you  are  content,  and  love 
only  me,  who  adore  you.  J. 

8  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  April  2$th,  1876. 

PARIS. 

MY  treasure,  I  pray  God  not  to  separate  us  in 
this  life  or  the  next.  That  is  why  I  am  anxious 
to  be  with  you  in  the  crowd  that  will  rush  to  see 
and  hear  you  at  the  cemetery  to-day.4  I  know 
by  experience  that  your  enthusiasm  borders  on 

*  Victor  Hugo  was  to  make  a  speech  at  the  funeral  of  Madame 
Louis  Blanc. 

394 


To  Victor  Hugo 

imprudence,  so  I  want  to  press  my  body  to  yours 
as  closely  as  our  souls  are  riveted  so  that  what- 
ever befalls  you  on  this  sad  occasion,  may  in- 
clude me.  As  the  love  animating  our  hearts  is 
identical,  it  is  only  fair  that  our  fate  should  be 
the  same.  I  wish  this  evening  were  safely  over, 
that  I  might  be  satisfied  that  everything  has  gone 
off  well;  for  I  am  afraid  if  poor  Louis  Blanc  at- 
tends the  mournful  ceremony  in  his  present  state 
of  ill-health  and  weakness,  he  may  not  be  able  to 
get  through  it.  I  shall  not  be  easy  until  we  are 
at  home  again.  Meanwhile  I  pray  Heaven  and 
our  angels  above  to  watch  over  you  and  preserve 
you  from  all  danger.  I  bless,  love,  and  adore  you, 
for  all  eternity.  J. 

/.jo  a.  m.,  Wednesday,  April  26th,  1876. 

PARIS. 

1  THANK  you  with  sacred  emotion,  my  dear 
one,  for  your  inclusion  of  me  in  the  sublime  and 
magnificent  exordium  you  pronounced  yesterday 
on  the  noble  wife  of  Louis  Blanc.  I  accept  it 
without  false  modesty  because  I  feel  I  deserve 
it,  and  I  am  proud  and  grateful  for  this  ante- 
apotheosis  you  made  of  me,  a  living  woman, 
standing  at  the  open  grave  of  the  devoted  de- 
ceased. I  am  sure  her  spirit  will  not  have 

395 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

grudged  it,  and  that  she  blesses  you  from  above, 
as  I  do  from  below,  joining  her  prayers  to  mine, 
that  God  may  grant  all  grace  and  divine  consola- 
tion to  those  we  love.  I  have  already  reread  your 
splendid  oration  many  times  to-day  and  although  I 
know  it  by  heart,  each  repetition  discloses  some 
fresh  beauty  in  it.  My  one  cry  is :  I  love  you !  I 
love  you ! !  I  love  you ! ! !  All  my  heart  and  soul 
are  contained  in  those  words :  I  love  you. 

j- 

10  a.  m.,  Monday,  November  nth,  1878. 

M  O,  my  beloved,  you  have  no  right  to  endanger 
your  precious  health  and  risk  your  glorious  life 
for  nothing.  "Art  for  art's  sake"  is  not  permissi- 
ble in  your  case,  and  we  shall  oppose  it  strenu- 
ously, even  at  the  risk  of  curtailing  your  liberty. 
I  am  sorry,  but  there  it  is — you  must  make  up 
your  mind  to  it.  There  are  plenty  of  useless  men 
in  this  world  who  may  waste  their  lives  as  they 
like,  but  you  must  guard  and  preserve  yours  for 
as  long  as  it  pleases  God  to  grant  it  to  you  for 
the  honor  and  happiness  of  humanity.  So,  my 
dear  little  man,  I  implore  you  not  to  repeat  yes- 
terday's imprudence  or  any  other,  for  all  our  sakes 
including  your  adorable  grandchildren's  and 
mine  whose  health  and  life  and  soul  you  are. 

396 


To  Victor  Hugo 

When  I  see  you  so  careless  of  yourself  I  cannot 
help  feeling  you  no  longer  love  me,  and  that 
my  continued  presence  is  so  wearisome  to  you 
that  you  want  to  be  rid  of  it  at  any  price. 
Then  I  am  seized  with  a  desperate  longing  to  de- 
liver you  of  me  forever,  rather  than  be  the  in- 
voluntary accomplice  of  your  repeated  suicidal 
acts,  which  have  been  ineffectual  so  far,  not 
through  your  fault,  but  because  God  intends  you 
to  go  on  living  for  His  greater  glory  and  your 
own.  May  His  will  be  done.  Amen. 

j. 

Friday  and  Saturday  mornings, 
1 2th  and  i^th  September,  1879. 

VILLEQUIER. 

A  DOUBLE  letter,  my  beloved ;  to-day's  and  yes- 
terday's, which,  for  want  of  paper,  pens  and  ink, 
I  was  not  able  to  send  you  at  the  proper  time,  in 
spite  of  the  inexhaustible  fount  of  my  love.  This 
morning  being  better  provided  I  can  let  myself 
go,  in  the  happiness  of  being  with  you  in  the  house 
of  your  respected  friends,5  and  enjoying  their 
tender  and  devoted  hospitality.  I  am  proud  and 
yet  shy  of  sharing  it  with  you;  proud  because  I 
think  myself  worthy,  shy  because  I  do  not  know 

•A.  Vacquerie  and  family. 

397 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

how  to  thank  them  or  to  prove  my  gratitude. 
Fortunately  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  your  pres- 
ence is  reward  enough  for  those  you  esteem,  and 
from  whom  you  accept  this  filial  friendship,  ad- 
miration and  devotion.  I  express  myself  badly 
but  you  are  accustomed  to  grasp  my  meaning  in 
spite  of  the  lapses  of  my  pen;  so  I  never  worry 
about  the  confusion  of  my  scribbles,  and  I  end 
them  imperturbably,  as  I  begin  them,  by  the 
sacred  words:  I  love  you.  I  did  not  venture  to 
ask  your  permission  yesterday  to  accompany  you 
on  your  pious  pilgrimage,6  but  I,  add  the  prayers 
I  addressed  to  God  and  your  dear  dead,  to  the 
sacrifice  I  was  forced  to  make  to  appearances.  If 
you  allow  me,  I  shall  go  before  we  leave  Villequier 
and  kneel  beside  those  venerated  tombs  to  offer 
under  the  open  sky  my  profound  respect  and 
eternal  benediction.  I  shall  only  do  it  if  you  con- 
sent, for  I  should  not  like  to  offend  against  good 
taste  by  the  outward  manifestation  of  the  senti- 
ment I  cherish  in  my  heart  for  your  dear  dead 
relations.  I  know  you  slept  well — thanks  evi- 
dently to  the  calm  and  happy  life  your  friends 
provide  for  you  in  their  circle,  for  which  I  thank 
and  bless  them  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I 
do  not  know  whether  the  weather  will  be  favor- 

6  To  the  grave  of  Leopoldine. 

398 


To  Victor  Hugo 

able  to-day  for  the  excursion  we  planned;  it  is 
foggy  so  far,  but  whatever  be  the  state  of  the 
barometer,  I  am  disposed  to  be  quite  happy  if  you 
are,  and  to  adore  you  without  conditions  of  any 
kind.  By  the  way,  how  are  you  going  to  evade 
the  attentions  of  the  mayor  and  corporation  of 
Le  Havre  without  hurting  the  feelings  of  the 
poor  workmen  who  implore  you  to  go  amongst 
them  while  you  are  in  their  neighborhood  ?  It  is 
not  an  easy  problem  to  solve.  Luckily  nothing 
is  a  difficulty  to  you — nor  to  me  either  when  there 
is  any  question  of  loving  you  with  all  my  might 
from  one  end  of  life  to  the  other !  J. 

7  a.  m.,  Monday,  May  $oth,  1880. 

PARIS. 

OOW  beautiful,  how  grand,  how  divine!!!  I 
have  just  finished  that  glorious  reading,  and  am 
electrified  by  the  elixir  of  your  ardent  poetry ;  my 
fainting  soul  clings  to  your  mighty  wings  to  arrest 
its  fall  from  the  starry  heights  in  which  you 
plane,  to  the  profound  abyss  of  my  ignorance.  I 
was  afraid  I  might  disturb  your  sleep  by  the  rust- 
ling of  the  leaves  as  I  cut  and  devoured  them 
greedily,  never  noticing  that  night  was  turning 
into  day.  Finally,  fearing  to  be  caught  by  you, 
I  dragged  myself  unwillingly  to  bed  at  three 

399 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

o'clock,  and  have  now  already  been  up  an  hour,  in 
triumphant  health,  rejuvenated  by  the  virility  of 
the  thoughts  your  inexhaustible  genius  pours 
forth  without  intermission  before  a  dazzled  and 
grateful  humanity.  My  hand  shakes  from  my  in- 
ward tremor,  and  it  is  with  difficulty  that  I  finish 
this  poor  little  cry  of  admiration.  Even  my  voice, 
if  I  tried  to  speak  at  this  moment,  could  hardly 
stammer  out  my  adoration.  I  am  in  the  throes  of 
a  kind  of  delirium  which  would  be  painful  were 
it  not  as  exquisite  as  the  divine  love  which  over- 
flows from  my  heart.  J. 

8  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  November  2d,  1880. 

PARIS. 

BELOVED,  Heaven  decrees  that  in  the  absence 
of  your  dear  departed  souls,  your  sweet  angels 
here  below  should  be  restored  to  you  to-day.  Let 
us  bless  Him  with  all  reverence  and  be  solemnly 
happy  with  the  memory  of  those  who  once  made 
our  felicity,  and  the  kisses  of  your  adorable 
grandchildren,  who  constitute  your  present  and 
future  content.  What  joy  it  is  to  see  them  once 
more,  lovelier  than  ever  if  possible,  and  in  still 
better  health.  All  night  I  listened  to  every  sound, 
that  I  might  be  the  first  to  welcome  them  on  the 
threshold.  I  succeeded,  and  was  repaid  by  their 

400 


To  Victor  Hugo 

hugs.  The  sun  shot  forth  its  brightest  beams  in 
their  honor.  As  for  you,  divine  grandpapa,  I 
trust  your  horrid  cold  will  yield  to  the  tender 
caresses  that  await  you,  and  that  we  shall  have 
you  with  us  in  our  enjoyment.  The  least  we  can 
hope  for  is  that  we  should  indulge  ourselves  in 
unlimited  caresses  after  these  three  months  of 
separation.  I  make  a  start  by  flinging  myself 
into  your  arms.  J. 

p  a.  m.,  Tuesday,  December  iqth,  1881. 

PARIS. 

I  COME  to  fetch  my  heart  where  I  left  it,  that 
is  to  say  in  yours.  I  return  it  to  you,  praying 
you  not  to  bruise  it  overmuch  by  unjust  and 
wounding  tyrannies.  My  independent,  proud 
nature  has  always  borne  them  ill,  and  is  now  in 
revolt.  I  beg  you,  beloved,  not  to  constitute  your- 
self the  critic  of  my  little  personal  needs.  What- 
ever I  may  ask,  I  assure  you  I  shall  never  exceed 
the  bounds  of  necessity  and  never  will  I  take  un- 
fair advantage  of  your  trust  and  generosity. 
The  position  you  have  given  me  in  your  household 
precludes  me  from  placing  myself  at  a  disadvan- 
tage in  the  eyes  of  your  guests  by  an  appearance 
not  in  consonance  with  your  means.  Therefore, 
please,  dear  great  man,  leave  it  to  my  discretion 

401 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

to  do  honor  to  you  as  well  as  to  myself.  Besides, 
the  little  time  I  have  to  spend  on  earth  is  not 
worth  haggling  about.  So,  my  great  little  man, 
let  us  be  good  to  each  other  for  the  rest  of  the 
time  God  grants  us  to  live  side  by  side,  and  heart 
to  heart.  J. 

Noon,  Sunday,  July  loth,  1881. 

PARIS. 

JVL  Y  dear  beloved,  I  must  first  of  all  confess  the 
fault  (if  it  be  one)  I  committed  yesterday  under 
the  influence  of  the  universal  enthusiasm  occa- 
sioned by  the  glorious  ovation  offered  to  you,  so 
that  you  may  forgive  it  even  if  you  see  fit  to  pun- 
ish me.  This  is  my  crime :  Whilst  you,  still  in 
the  full  flood  of  your  emotion,  were  thanking  the 
enthusiastic  crowd,  the  councilors  of  our  district 
approached  to  congratulate  you  and  at  the  same 
time  to  beg  for  money  for  their  schools.  Madame 
Lockroy  sent  them  forty  francs  by  Georges,  and 
as  they  stood  behind  you  intent  upon  presenting 
their  money-boxes  themselves,  yet  failing  to  at- 
tract your  attention,  they  addressed  themselves  to 
me,  and  in  my  excited  surprise,  I  gave  them  the 
hundred-franc  note  I  was  saving  up  for  my  birth- 
day, to  add  to  the  two  hundred  francs  you  gave 
me  on  yours.  I  gave  them  the  hundred  francs 

402 


To  Victor  Hugo 

in  your  name,  at  the  same  time  reminding  them 
they  had  already  received  five  hundred  from  you 
the  day  before  through  their  mayor.  He,  hap- 
pening to  be  present,  confirmed  my  statement. 
This  is  my  transgression;  if  you  deem  it  deserv- 
ing of  severity  you  need  not  refund  the  money. 
If  you  take  into  account  the  delirium  and  excite- 
ment of  the  occasion  you  will  smile  and  give  me 
back  my  poor  little  mite  of  which  I  have  great 
need.  In  any  case  you  must  not  scold  me  too 
much,  for  I  am  very  sensitive.  J. 

8  a.  m.,  Wednesday,  June  2ist,  1882. 

BELOVED,  thank  you  for  taking  me  to-day  to 
the  mournful  and  sweet  rendezvous  of  St.  Mande. 
I  feel  as  if  my  sorrow  would  be  less  bitter,  kneel- 
ing at  my  child's  grave  than  when  I  am  at  a  dis- 
tance ...  as  if  my  soul  could  get  closer  to  that 
of  my  little  beloved,  through  the  earth  of  her 
tomb,  than  anywhere  else.  I  hope  you  will  find 
your  dear  daughter  in  good  health  and  that  we 
shall  both  return  from  this  sacred  errand  re- 
signed to  the  will  of  God,  though  not  consoled, 
for  that  is  no  longer  possible  in  this  world. 
Thank  you  again,  my  adored  one,  for  sharing 
with  me  a  sad  anniversary,  that  recalls  to  you 
the  many  sorrows  of  your  own  life.  I  am  very 

403 


Love  Letters  of  Juliette  Drouet 

grateful  to  you  and  I  bless  you  as  I  love  you,  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  soul.  J. 

Monday,  January  ist,  1883. 
E/EAR  adored  one,  I  do  not  know  where  I  may 
be  this  time  next  year,  but  I  am  proud  and  happy 
to  sign  my  life-certificate  for  1883  with  this  one 
word :     I  love  you. 

JULIETTE.7 
T  This  letter  is  the  last  Juliette  ever  wrote. 


404 


APPENDIX 

LIST  OF  THOSE  OF  VICTOR  HUGO'S  POEMS 

WHICH  WERE  INSPIRED  BY  JULIETTE 

DROUET.1 

A.     LES  CHANTS  DU  CREPUSCULE. 

XIV.     Oh!  n'insultez  jamais   (September  6,  1835). 
XXI.     Hier  la  nuit  d'ete  (May  21,  1835). 
XXII.     Nouvelle  chanson  sur  un  vieil  air   (Febru- 
ary 28,  1834). 

XXIII.  Autre  chanson. 

XXIV.  Oh!   pour  remplir   de  moi    (September    19, 

1834).^ 

XXV.     Puisque  j'ai  mis  ma  levre  (January  i,  1835). 
XXVI.     Or  Mademoiselle  J.  (March  i,  1835). 
XXVII.     La  pauvre  fleur  (December  7,  1834). 
XXVIII.    Au  bord  de  la  mer  (October  7,  1834). 
XXIX.     Puisque  nos  heures  sont  remplies  (February 

19,  1835). 
XXXIII.     Dans  1'eglise  de  .  .  .  (October  25,  1834). 

1  Monsieur  Eugene  Planes  possesses  the  original  editions  of 
Chants  du  Crepuscule,  Les  Voix  Interieures,  Les  Rayons  et  les 
Ombres,  dedicated  to  Julktte  and  annotated  by  herself.  He  has 
been  good  enough  to  refer  to  them  and  verify  our  list  in  so 
far  as  the  three  following  collections  are  concerned.  We  have 
included  in  the  selection  only  the  love-poems  which  were  directly 
inspired  by  Juliette.  We  have  left  out  the  miscellaneous  pieces 
which  were  dedicated  to  her  after  they  were  written,  sometimes 
at  her  own  request. 

405 


Appendix 

XXXVI.     Puisque  Mai  tout  en  fleurs  (May  21,  1835). 

B.    LES  Voix  INTERIEURES. 

VI.  Oh!  vivons  disent-ils   (March  4,  1837). 

VIII.  Venez  que  je  vous  parle  (April  21,  1837). 

IX.  Pendant  que  la  fenetre  etait  ouverte   (Feb- 
ruary 26,  1837). 

XI.  Puisqu'ici-bas  toute  ame  (May  19,  1836). 

XVI.  Passe  (April  i,  1835). 

XVII.  Soiree  en  mer  (November  9,  1836). 

XII.  OrOl (May  26,  1837). 

XXX.  Or  Olympis  (October  15,  1835). 

XXXI.  La  tombe  dit  a  la  rose  (June  3,  1837). 

C.    LES  RAYONS  ET  LES  OMBRES. 

XXII.     Guitare  (March  14,  1837). 

XXIII.  Autre  guitare  (July  18,  1838). 

XXIV.  Quand  tu  me  paries  de  gloire  (October  12, 

1837). 
XXVII.     Oh!    quand    je    dors,    viens    aupres    de   ma 

couche  (June  19,  1839). 
XXVIII.     A  une  jeune  femme  (May  16,  1837). 

XXV.     Or  cette  terre  ou  Ton  ploie  (May  20,  1838). 

XXXIII.  L'Ombre  (March,  1839). 

XXXIV.  Tristesse  d'Olympis   (October  21,  1837). 
XLI.     Dieu   qui   sourit   et   qui   donne    (January    i, 

1840). 

D.    LES  CONTEMPLATIONS. 
BOOK  II. 

II.     Mes  vers  faisaient  doux  et  freles.  .  .  . 
V.     Hier  au  soir. 

406 


Appendix 

XIII.  Viens,  une  flute  invisible. 
XV.     Parole  dans  1'ombre. 

XVII.     Sous  les  arbres. 
XX.     II  fait  froid. 

XXI.     II   lui    disait:    Vois-tu,    si    tous    deux    nous 
pouvions. 

XXIII.  Apres  1'hiver. 

XXIV.  Que  le  sort  quel  qu'il  soit  vous  trouve  tou- 

jours  grande. 

XXV.     Je  respire  ou  tu  palpites. 
XXVII.     Oui,  va  prier  a  1'eglise. 
XXVIII.    Un  soir  que  je  regardais  le  ciel. 

BOOK    V. 

XIV.  Claire  P.  ... 

XXIV.     J'ai  cueilli  cette  fleur  pour  toi  sur  la  colline. 


BOOK  VI. 


VIII.     Claire. 


E.    TOUTE  LA  LYRE. 

BOOK  VI.    L'AMOUR. 

I.     Lorsque  ma  main  fremit. 
II.     Oh,   si  vous  existez,  mon  ange,  mon  genie 
(March  10,  1833). 

III.  Vois-tu,    mon    ange,    il    faut    accepter    nos 

douleurs  (January  i,  1835). 

IV.  Vous  m'avez  eprouve  (June  23,  1843). 
XV.     Etapes  du  cceur. 

VII.    A  J et. 

IX.    Qu'est-ce  que  cette  annee  emporte. 
XVII.     N'est-ce  pas  mon  amour. 
407 


Appendix 


XXXI.     Oh    dis,    te    souviens-tu    de    cet    heureux 

dimanche. 

XXXIV.     Garde  a  jamais  dans  ta  memoire. 
XXXVI.    A  une  immortelle. 
XLVII.     Quand  deux  cceurs  en  s'aimant. 

II.    BOOKS  CONCERNING  JULIETTE  DROUET. 

Les  Belles  femmes  de  Paris,  par  une  societe  de  gens  de 

lettres  et  de  gens  du  monde,  Paris,  1839. 
Edmond  Eire:  Victor  Hugo  apres  1830.     Paris,  1879. 
Alfred  Asseline:   Victor  Hugo  intime.     Paris,   1885. 
Richard   Levelide:   Propos   de   table  de   Victor  Hugo. 

Paris,  1885. 

Gustave  Rivet :  Victor  Hugo  chez  lui,     Paris,  1885. 
Tristan   Legay:   Les  amours  de   Victor  Hugo.     Paris, 

1901. 
Louis  Guimbaud:  Victor  Hugo  et  Juliette  Drouet  in  La 

Contemporaine  of  February  25  and  March  10,  1902. 
Leon  Seche:  Juliette  Drouet  in  the  Revue  de  Paris  of 

February  I,  1903. 
Wellington   Wack:   The  Story   of  Juliette  and   Victor 

Hugo.     London  and  Paris,  no  date   (about  1906). 
Juana  Richard  Levelide:    Victor  Hugo  intime.     Paris, 

1907. 
Hector  Fleischmann:   Une  Maitresse  de  Victor  Hugo. 

Paris,  1912. 
Jean    Pierre    Barbier:    Juliette    Drouet,    Sa    Vie,    son 

(Euvre.     Paris,  1913. 

III.  WORKS  OF  ART  REPRESENTING  JULI- 
ETTE DROUET. 

Juliette    Drouet    in    1827.     Statuette    by    Chaponniere. 
Only  one  proof  is  known  to  us;  it  belongs  to  M. 
408 


Appendix 

Daniel   Baux   Bovy,   ex-curator  of  the   Musee   de 

Geneve. 
Juliette  Drouet  in  1830,  portrait  in  oils  by  Champmartin 

(Musee  Victor  Hugo). 
Juliette  Drouet  as  Princesse  Negronie.     Colored  engrav- 

in  the  Martini  series. 
Juliette  Drouet.     Engraving  by  Leon  Mae'l,  in  L' Artiste, 

1832. 
Juliette  Drouet  in  1846.     Plaster  bust  by  Victor  Vilain 

(Musee  Victor  Hugo). 
Juliette   Droiwt   at   Jersey   and    Guernsey.     Numerous 

photographs    belonging    to    Messrs.     Blaizot    and 

Planes. 
Juliette  Drouet  in  1882.     Drawing  by  Vuillaume  in  Le 

Monde  Illustre  of  December  15,  1882. 
Juliette  Drouet  in  1883.     Portrait  in  oils  by  Bastien  Le- 
page ;  exhibited  in  the  Salon,  1883 ;  now  included  in 

the  Pereira  Collection. 


409 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

305  De  Neve  Drive  -  Parking  Lot  17  •  Box  951388 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA  90095-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    000  709  409    7 


